


your life for the evening

by chailattemusings



Series: persephone [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Fae manipulation, M/M, body horror cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chailattemusings/pseuds/chailattemusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will had never thought he could harness green magic, too caught up in the sights and sounds of the city and its people. But Kirin, Will's teacher and the sidhe lord of the forest, watching the city from his humble garden shop, begs to differ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As it turned out, Will _could_ manipulate glass, and do it well.

After the windows of Kirin's shop had been broken, vandalized by the Garbage Court, Will had offered to patch them up, not exactly knowing if he could. Kirin had smiled and said he was welcome to try, and even went so far as to purchase the glass that Will would need. The panes were sitting against the wall of the shop on Will's next work day.

Kirin bustled about the shop as Will picked up the first pane, peeling away the towel that covered the broken window at the front of the shop. There were three broken windows, and if that didn't speak enough for the Garbage Court being the culprits, Will wasn't sure what did. They'd probably all had a laugh about smashing in the glass and sneaking inside while their king stood back and chewed on a cigarette.

Will could feel Kirin behind him, setting small planters on the shelves and freshening some of the plants with a spray bottle of water. Will glanced down at the floor, where the broken glass had been swept away, and his hand, holding the long pane resting inside a white frame.

He could only assume Kirin had measured the window already. With a deep breath, he raised the pane up and pushed it into the wall, setting the frame as best he could without shaking the glass too much. He grunted and shoved as gently as he could, until the frame clicked, and the window stopped wobbling. Will stepped back, and frowned.

The glass was shaking, too loose in its frame. Wherever Kirin had bought the windows had failed in measuring their own glass. Will put a hand over it before the glass could slip from the frame and topple out. Well aware Kirin was watching him, Will closed his eyes.

Windows, the sight of the city. The gap in every wall and the mirrors that let people inside. The weakest part of any building, thin glass the only separation between the outside world and the threshold, unable to protect against all the dangers like wood and stone and metal could. Windows groaned in the harsh winds of winter and boiled with the heat of summer suns, and looking into them was like looking into a scrying pool, letting someone see inside the gaping maws of the homes and businesses of the city.

The glass chilled as it was buffeted by the wind outside, the freezing temperature spreading through it. Will pressed his lips tight and stretched his fingers over the window, breathing deep as he grabbed hold of the magic lingering there, the flicker of clear spirals that spoke of the windows' purpose, its need to shield and grant vision from the inside and out. Will snatched the magic as soon as he saw it, knowing the familiar touch of the city's sight, and stretched it. The window was loose, and Will silently asked the glass to listen to him, to stretch and mold to its frame. He pushed heat and life into the thin surface just under his hand, his other tight around the window frame to keep it in place.

Without breaking his touch on the glass, Will sucked in a harsh breath, stealing firelight from the lights in the shop. He could see the light flickering in front of his closed eyelids, and hoped Kirin would forgive him, borrowing the light and setting it against the glass, pouring it over the surface and around the edges where the glass didn't fit its frame.

Reluctantly, the glass warmed, and Will breathed out again, uncurling the spirals of clear magic and laying them flat, burning the glass and willing it to spread with hot fire that curled under his fingers and dug with the sharpness of needles into his nails.

The subtle whorls and curves that made up the glass, melted and smoothed so perfectly that its imperfections couldn't be seen, stretched thinner at Will's command. Will felt it, the _tink_ of glass hitting plastic, slipping perfectly into the borders of the frame, and Will opened his eyes.

The shop was a bit dimmer with Will's borrowed light, and he unleashed it from the hand he still had on the glass, letting it slip away and skitter back up to the ceiling. The brightness returned instantly, and Will turned his attention to the window, taking a step back as the touch and sight of clarity and fragile glass left him.

It didn't sway anymore, the frame perfect for the window and the glass morphed into the right shape. It might be a hair thinner than before, moved around as it was, but Kirin had been the one who bought improperly fitted glass.

Hands slipped over his waist and Will jumped. He turned and saw Kirin's blue eyes, watching him. “Finished?” he asked, leaning down to let his chin hover over Will's shoulder, too tall to rest it on Will without stooping uncomfortably.

“Huh? Oh.” Will blinked and looked at the window again. “Yeah, I will be once I put the wood jam back in so the window doesn't slip. You bought bad frames, by the way.” He reached out and tapped gently on the glass with his pointer finger, wary of breaking it. “The glass wasn't quite the right size. I'd recommend taking the rest back.”

Kirin turned, breath puffing out his nostrils and running hot down Will's neck. “And this one?”

“Uh.” Will bit his lips. “I sort of already messed around with the glass, so it would fit. It wouldn't be right to return it in this condition.” A _better_ condition, Will thought to himself, but even though the glass looked smooth, he couldn’t guarantee that whoever had sold it to Kirin wouldn't notice any tampering. 

Kirin looked at the window, hands tensing over Will's hips, just barely digging in. “Could you 'mess around' with the others?” he asked, his voice a low purr as he looked down, and Will looked up to match his gaze. “I'd hate to go across town again, is all.”

“Ah, well.” Reaching up, Will scratched at the back of his head, and looked again at the glass. He could feel the traces of his magic in it, swirling over the subtle curves of the glass and pulsing its way into the frame, resting in the seal. He swallowed. “I could try.”

“Perfect.” Kirin leaned down and kissed his cheek, a wet smack that made Will tense, before Kirin pulled away. He returned to tending the shop, and Will turned to glare playfully at him, heart sinking when he saw that Kirin was no longer looking at him. They didn't share affection often, given that their only interaction was when their shifts matched up at the shop, but the small displays always made Will's heart flutter. Kirin kept a close hand so often that the bits of tenderness that he _did_ bestow sent a flush of warm affection through him.

Kirin was arranging ceramic pots on the floor, stacking and unstacking them as he considered the most appealing choices. The floor was green carpet, mimicking the moss that covered the floor in Kirin’s greenhouses. Will peered down, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as he tested the plushness of the carpet. The first time he'd touched it, he'd been tempted to lie down and take a nap.

His fingers brushed over it now, as he bent down and grabbed the next window frame, dragging it to the shattered window beside its repaired companion. Will set the frame against the wall and pushed on the glass with the back of his hand, relieved to see that it didn't wobble as much as the one before. It still moved, though, and he clicked his tongue as he stood and removed the towel covering the empty space where the old window had been.

As far as Will knew, Kirin hadn't run into the Garbage Court since the night of the break in, and Will hadn't seen them either. Ross had taken to stopping by Will's bedroom every so often after he'd first visited to apologize for one of the Court's more . . . _hazardous_ incidents involving Will, but hadn't shown his face since the night after Christmas. Part of Will missed him.

The other part wanted to seethe and rage, thinking of the court as a whole and how they'd damaged Kirin's shop, shattering the threshold and sending screaming pain through Will's blood. Whether he and Ross got along or not, he wouldn't let a crime like that go without a harsh word or two. Or more, in the case of Trott and Smith and that bastard king of theirs.

Will couldn't do anything about it now. He'd offered to fix Kirin's windows, and now he was, setting the replacement panes carefully into the wall before pushing a jam in to keep them from slipping. He morphed the second pane, touching the glass and inhaling the melted sand that had been poured to make it until it fit the frame, and moved on to the third. Three windows, one for each person who had broken in, stealing nothing, destroying only to destroy, to laugh in the face of Kirin's absence as the screams of the city haunted Will.

He still had nightmares. Dreams of the city torn apart pipe by pipe, wall by wall, as it crashed down around its people, and in the middle of it all, Kirin, tied with wire cables around his wrists and an iron pipe choking his throat.

Will shuddered at the thought. He hadn't gotten a full night's rest since the day he'd come home, after being kept awake by the city’s cries and crashing on his uncle's living room couch. The best rest he got after that was when the shop was quiet and he could doze at the front counter, the dreams never reaching him when Kirin's magic had slid over his wrists and ankles and anchored his consciousness down.

He still couldn't grasp it, though. Kirin's magic was like a shadow, a painted tapestry of greens and flower blossoms that Will could only see the ghost image of, faint and far from him. Xephos wouldn't be so worried if Will _wasn't_ wrapped in Kirin's touch, but Will could never hold on to it himself, the image always fading before his fingers could reach.

It was never the same thick, tangible coat of the city that Will could pull over his shoulders.

Watching Kirin set a few new planters on one of the shelves, brushing his hands over the leaves, set Will's teeth on edge. He wanted to understand Kirin's magic, to feel it burst to life within him in a way that didn't make him grab his head and scream in pain. He wanted it on its own, separate from Kirin’s ties to the city. But he could only hope for it, and in the meantime, serve Kirin the best way he knew how.

Swallowing, Will said, “The, uh, windows are done.” He stepped back from the third repair job. He'd had to fix the glass on all of them, but they stood strong now, bolstered by Will's magic and shining just like the old windows had.

Kirin looked up from his work, smiling. “Excellent!” He moved with inhuman grace to stand beside Will, resting a hand on his shoulder. Will sucked in a harsh breath, Kirin's touch coming with a wave of magic just as it always did. Kirin breathed green magic; it was impossible not to feel when he got near Will.

But he still couldn't _touch_ it, damn it. Will swallowed and followed Kirin's gaze to the windows.

“They look good,” Kirin said, and smiled down at him. “You did a lovely job.”

“I'm glad.” Will met his eyes, blinking slowly. He and Kirin hadn't talked about the antler ring or the night Kirin had stayed at Xephos' house, even with the repairs that needed to be made to the shop, a reminder of that night. Kirin had treated it like fixing broken windows was just something that happened, not a crime committed in his absence.

“Back to work, then, I suppose.” Kirin briefly squeezed Will's shoulder, and dropped his hand. He moved back to the planters, pushing them a few inches back on the shelf to prevent any mishaps involving falling pots. Will watched him, sighing.

Kirin paused, and turned back to Will. “Would you, perhaps, like me to give you another lesson?” he asked, his eyes bright.

Something like relief and anticipation fluttered through Will's heart, and he nodded. “Yes, please,” he said, walking a bit too fast to stand next to Kirin.

Chuckling, Kirin gestured to the plants he'd just set up. “Those are the new thyme plants,” he said, “still babies. I need to give them a little fertilizer and a bit of a magic boost, to keep them healthy. I think the shock of the cold when I brought them in from the greenhouse might have stunned them a bit.”

Kirin talking about the plants as if they were animals was nothing new, and wasn't something exclusive to him. Honeydew spoke the same way about his gemstones.

“Sure,” Will said, glancing at the shelf, where the tiny plastic pots hosting small, leafy tendrils rested. “What kind of magic boost?”

“A bit of an herb mix to add to the fertilizer,” Kirin said casually, turning to walk behind the front counter. Will followed with quick steps, watching as Kirin bent down and grabbed a plastic bottle from the storage space in the back of the counter. There were several cupboards there, one of which had a padlock on it, but the unlocked ones were full of planting supplies that Kirin kept for the shop plants. It was a miniature version of the storage in the greenhouses, ready and waiting for whenever Kirin needed it.

“The plants look fine to me,” Will said idly, as Kirin passed him to go back to the shelf. Kirin paused, glancing at him, and Will swallowed as he moved close again.

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Kirin lifted up the bottle and opened the lid, tilting it, to dust powdered fertilizer at the base of the plants. “You should know that,” he said, and gave Will a meaningful look, eyes narrowed slightly as his lips pulled up in the barest hint of a smirk.

Will blushed and turned away. “Yeah, I know.” He'd learned that lesson all too well, a few months ago. “Still, do the plants really need it, if they're that young? I thought plants didn't need fertilizer until they were older.”

“It encourages growth,” Kirin said, tucking the bottle into a special pouch hooked on his belt, worn to keep gardening supplies on hand. He reached up and touched the sprouts, fingers tracing the stems. “As I said, they may have been shocked by the cold. If they have problems getting nutrients, they won't grow. And I put a small spell in this particular fertilizer.” He stepped back and patted the plastic bottle on his hip. “They'll flourish within the next few weeks, perfect for anyone hoping to have some extra herbs in their house.”

Blinking at the plants, Will reached out and caressed one of them. The leaves had a slightly rough quality to the edge, and he could see Kirin's magic sprouting from them, dancing across the leafy tendrils and burying itself in the soil. He tried to grasp it, pushing his mind outward and scooping around the small bursts of green, but they slipped through his fingers, wiggling like bugs over his hands and hiding beneath the plants.

Will bit his lip and put his hand down. “I see,” he said, his voice deadpan. It sounded worse out loud, and he winced, glancing at Kirin.

Kirin had tilted his head, watching Will, and straightened as Will's eyes fell on him. “I have work to do in the greenhouse,” he said, gaze flicking to the back door. “Why don't you come with me? We shouldn't be busy until lunch hour.”

Looking at the front door to confirm no one from the street would come bursting in, Will swallowed and nodded. Kirin grinned, turning to move to the back of the shop. Will glanced one more time at the herbs, catching the green strings of magic wrapped around their edges, and grit his teeth.

He was a technomancer. Green magic wasn't _for_ him.

 

* * *

 

But that didn't stop him from trying.

The night Kirin had stayed at Xephos' home, the night Will had worn the antler ring, still plagued him. Will hadn't been able to handle the cry of Kirin's shop on top of the desperate begging and sharp claws of the city; if he could touch green magic, shape it and bend it the way electricity and metal always bowed to his desire, maybe he wouldn't be caught off guard next time.

He sincerely hoped there wouldn't be a next time, of course. Will simply wanted to take precautions.

And he would be lying if he said he wasn't interested in green magic. He'd been in its grip, felt the soft caress, every time Kirin helped him work through his stresses with a meditation session or guided Will with a soft voice in his ear on how to feel the magic surrounding the plants. When Kirin helped him, Will could easily see the green magic like fireworks behind his eyelids.

He wanted to grasp it on his own.

His numerous efforts proved fruitless. Kirin was in the shop often, and Will didn't dare attempt too much magic in front of him. Kirin would notice; he was good at calling Will out on being trapped by city magic when he saw Will breathing hard or noticed how unfocused his eyes were. No doubt he would catch Will trying to worm his way into green magic, and laugh.

The little attempts Will _could_ make yielded very few victories. He thought he could see the magic more clearly, brushing over vines and leaves and feeling the life pulse within them, but Will had no way of measuring how much was real and how much was his projection of what he hoped he was feeling; it all mixed together.

He spent more time in the greenhouses, watering plants and potting seeds, while Kirin tended to the front shop. Will only ever got to spend an hour or so in the warm glass buildings, before Kirin interrupted to check on him. His concern would have been sweet if it didn't break Will's concentration every time.

A week after the antler ring incident, just after the new year had broken, Will let out a strangled noise and sat on the moss floor of the greenhouse.

He'd been trying to coax a rose bush, after it had refused to stem anything green. Will knew enough to understand that rose bushes looked like twigs for a long time in their early growth, but the other half dozen surrounding that particular bush had already developed tiny green buds on the edges of their branches. Will had touched his fingers lightly over the one bush falling behind, eyes narrowed and lips parted as he tried to feel out its life, to find out why it was growing more slowly than its siblings.

After a solid minute of feeling little more than the slightest poke of magic, Will gave up and slumped to the floor. He put his face in one hand, sighing as he stared up at the bushes on the greenhouse tables.

“Something wrong?”

Will looked up, catching sight of Kirin in the door. It shut quickly, keeping out the January cold, and Kirin stepped up to Will, stopping with his boots just in front of Will's legs. “Your sigh could send a wind through the city,” he said, smiling playfully.

“It's-- nothing,” Will said, sitting up and getting his legs underneath him.

“Oh, don't move on my account.” Kirin bent down, putting a hand on Will's shoulder, and quickly resolved the matter by sitting down himself, pulling Will back to the floor as he went. “What were you doing?”

Will glared at the rose bushes while Kirin settled on the moss floor next to him. He could say something about leaving the shop unattended, but Kirin seemed to know when it was running slow, when it was okay to leave the shop alone for a little while.

Shoulders slumping, Will said, “I was trying to feel magic from the roses. They weren't giving me much.” He blushed at how pathetic it sounded and ducked his head down.

Kirin grinned, rubbing his hand down Will's back, spreading his hand to press in some of the warmth there. Will never could figure out how Kirin was always warm, even compared to the heat of the greenhouses. His fingers were thick and strong, pushing into his muscles and, like every other time Kirin started helping Will relax, it was easy to sink into the feeling. Will hummed, leaning back against the touch, letting his arms go limp and his head fall back.

“They are infants,” Kirin said, eyes flicking up to the table. “They will not give off strong magic for some time. You must play with the healthy and hearty to feel anything substantial, Will. The magic is where the life is, and you must do your best to seek it out.”

Will looked up, meeting Kirin's eyes. “Seek it out?”

“You have to ask the magic for your time and attention.” Kirin shuffled closer, so their bodies were pressed together, his long legs up against Will's back, hand still rubbing down his spine. Kirin's other hand came around him, reaching down to settle in the moss. “You can feel it,” he said, his lips close to Will's ear and sending shivers down his body. “The leafy texture, the spindly tendrils, the green filling every vein.”

As he spoke, something twisted out from between Kirin's fingers. Will's eyes went wide as a vine, a stem from the clumps of moss, rose up and twisted over Kirin's fingertips. It wrapped across his nails and bound itself over his knuckles, grabbing hold with a strength Will wouldn't have expected from something as simple as moss.

“Go ahead,” Kirin whispered in his ear. “Feel it.”

Will reached down, skimming his fingers over Kirin's hand. The vine twitched, and Will couldn't help a quiet, nervous laugh, shaking a bit as he touched the vine. It flinched away from him, and Will nearly drew back, but Kirin said again, “Stay with it, touch it.”

Swallowing, Will brought his hand forward again, and laid his fingers over the vine. It twitched at first, but stilled as he kept his fingers in place, unwinding from Kirin's hand to brush over his skin. “They like me,” Will said, his breath nearly catching in his throat as he laughed.

“Of course they do.” Kirin turned to press a light kiss to Will's temple. Will flushed red, even as the vine continued to tentatively explore his hand.

More vines came up from the moss, thin stems with minuscule leaves that breached the top of it to sweep over the underside of Will's palm, inspecting him for a moment before moving on to Kirin, exploring the rough calluses and nails with dirt stuck underneath them. Will's eyes flicked between Kirin's hands and his own, watching the vines move, and tensed as he let his magic reach out to greet the scene.

A pulse, like a low hum, spread over the moss. It buzzed and murmured, skittering over the vines and digging into the layers of moss beneath him, only to sprout back up like a seedling searching for the sun. Will's breath hitched; he could feel how it ran over his hands and under his legs, the tiny, yearning stretch of magic seeking a companion.

There was a glow, something just beyond Will's vision. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Kirin's hand was still on his back, massaging over the tight muscles, his body pressed close and comforting to Will's. He thought he might have heard Kirin say something, felt breath brushing over his ear, but Will was focused on the humming over the floor, the moss tentatively reaching out.

A sheen, like plastic, a layer over the moss that shone green and brown and red, moss curling over itself and twisting together to form the thick bed he and Kirin rested on. Will could see it, and the humming grew louder, a soft call just quiet enough to make the sounds indistinct. Will's teeth slipped over his lip, biting, and he felt out the nearest patch of green-red-brown, found it like a tiny ribbon under his fingers.

Breathing out slowly, Will opened his eyes, and saw the vine worming its way between his fingers. Smiling, Will felt out its magic and curled his own around it, cupping the vine's energy between metaphorical palms, and softly asked if the vine wouldn't mind a little game.

Something pulsed again in the magic, and the vine rose up, away from Will's hand and over to Kirin's, slipping across his thumb and wrapping tight in a vice grip. Will grinned and turned, looking up at Kirin. “Gotcha,” he whispered, too focused on his tenuous hold on the vine to speak any louder.

Kirin glanced at the vine, and at Will, and his eyes went a bit wider, lips stretching in a thin pink line as he smiled. “Will,” he said, his voice full of awe and reverence.

Will looked at the vine again, how it wrapped around Kirin, and only then did he realize what he'd done. He'd taken a vine and compelled it, had felt out the green magic and _used_ it.

Will beamed, looking in Kirin's eyes, searching them. He found the approval he was looking for as Kirin leaned in, touching their foreheads together, and the hand over Will's back slipped down and took hold of his free hand. “Wonderful,” he murmured, like he'd just watched a miracle unfold, his voice soft and approving.

The vine curled tighter over Kirin's trapped hand, and Will breathed deep, tasting moss and wood and leaves on his tongue, and Kirin chuckled quietly under his breath.

 

* * *

 

Will wasn't sure what had let him take control of the moss in the greenhouse, but it hadn't lasted more than a minute. Soon the flavor of green magic was gone and all he could breathe was city again, thrumming under his skin even as Kirin's magic danced around him.

Will resolved to change that, starting with more outside knowledge.

He walked home, after hopping off the bus from Kirin's shop, and paused outside a small deli. It was the kind of place you didn't see unless you looked for it, tucked on a street corner with a red overhang, the name of the deli owner scrawled in some script that made the letters difficult to distinguish. The people going in dropped cigarettes off in the trashcan near the door and the people coming out carried small shopping bags with things like pancake mix and deodorant and milk. Will had passed it a hundred times on his way to work, and only went in once when he'd forgotten breakfast and needed something quick to eat.

He stopped, shoes scuffing the frozen sidewalk. An older man in a long trench coat left the store, holding a hand up to shield his lighter from the wind as he lit a cigarette, renewing the habit he'd stopped upon stepping in the deli's doors. Will sidestepped away from him, eyes fixed on the window. Just beyond the door was a display rack made of thin metal bars, holding up various magazines. One in particular caught his eye, and Will opened the deli's doors before he could think, slipping past the threshold and spinning to face the magazine rack.

He picked up the magazine that had caught his attention, leafing through it briefly. It only took a moment to make the decision, tucking it under his arm and going to the front counter. The clerk was also the shop's owner, a young Chinese man who spoke with a thick accent. He smiled as Will set the magazine on the counter and dug out his wallet.

The magazine cost more than a magazine should, but Will paid without complaint and folded it back under his arm when he'd finished paying, pulling his scarf us as he walked back outside. The wind had picked up, a sharp breeze that dug under his collar no matter how tight the scarf was, and flicked the edges of his jacket up just enough for Will to feel the chill. He grit his teeth for the rest of the walk home, hurrying up the front steps of Xephos's house and slamming the door shut.

“Will?” a voice called from the living room, and then Xephos poked his head into the foyer. “You're a bit late coming home.”

“Bus was a bit late, and the sidewalks are slippery,” Will said, unwinding his scarf and hanging it in the coat closet with his jacket. He'd set the magazine on top of the small shelf that held all their boots, and picked it back up, thumbing the edges of the pages with hands now freed from their winter gloves.

Xephos, in a thick sweater and pajamas bottoms that told Will he was absolutely _done_ with being stressed over his work for the day, crossed his arms over his chest. “What's that?” he asked, tilting his head toward the magazine.

“I picked it up on the way home,” Will said, holding the magazine a bit closer to his side. “I thought I ought to start learning a thing or two about the business I'm working in.”

Xephos let out a soft sigh as he eyed the magazine, no doubt inspecting the cover, which was decorated with a picture of a large potted plant, and several lines of text about how to become a gardening expert. “You need to know how to garden?” Will asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

“If I'm going to work with Kirin, yes,” Will said, walking past Xephos to get to the stairs. He kept the magazine tight to his side, where Xephos couldn't snatch it, and hurried up the steps. His cheeks had flushed with the sudden warmth of the house after being outside, and colored further as Will thought of hiding things from Xephos.

It wasn't anything _bad_. It was just a gardening magazine. But Will knew how Xephos felt about Kirin and green magic after the antler ring incident. Sometimes Will caught himself wishing for the ring back, thinking of the smooth, polished surface, bracketed in metal. He always thought of Xephos afterwards, though, and how ashamed and frightened he would be to see his beloved nephew with a physical bond to Kirin.

The magazine was harmless. Will was overdue to learn about plants. As he climbed the steps to the attic and turned to pull the stairs back up, he glanced at the glossy pages peeking from under his arm. He hadn't had to learn about cities to have an affinity for them, to hear the call of the people and buildings and creatures scraping through the streets, but learning had helped control it. Listening to Kirin teach him about the heart of the city beating to the rhythm of the subway trains and the tangible _tick_ as noontime hit and everyone in their jobs took their lunch breaks, the way the city sighed when it suddenly lost the stresses of the average work day or tensed every morning at nine o'clock, all that had helped Will understand and control his magic.

Learning about plants ought to help him grasp whatever it was that he'd done, when he'd grabbed a vine and wrapped it around Kirin's thumb.

 

* * *

 

The magazine was a much better purchase than Will had realized, as he sat on his bed and started thumbing through the pages.

It was about modern gardening, how the busy people in their crowded lives could make gardening more efficient and simple, with the same beautiful effects as traditional gardening. There were guides on making small terrariums and tiny ponds that would slot themselves into the nonexistent backyards and tiny balcony spaces that were barely affordable by anyone who lived in the city. Fancy pots with DIY designs and trellises that could be hung over people's windows, the kinds of things city people liked to dream that they had time to do.

Will's head rested on a mound of pillows at the top of his bed, feet propped over the footlocker of his belongings that sat at the base. Will had barely brought any possessions when he came to Xephos' house to learn magic and get away from the countryside, and all of it had fit in that small footlocker. He'd acquired more junk since then, but not enough to give his room the kind of clutter that everyone else in the house had.

He flipped another page of the magazine, and paused. In the middle of the page was a conical lamp, filled halfway with something viscous and green, and the bottom half was lit up, providing a dull glow. He looked at the title, brows furrowed.

“Algae powered solar lamp,” he muttered, and adjusted his position on the bed as he pulled the magazine a bit closer to read the small print.

It was a new idea, that consisted of filling the lamp with algae and sitting it in the sun to give the algae energy. Whoever owned one had to blow air in the lamp once a month, via an ugly looking, twisted spout at the top, to give the algae CO2. The lamp would light automatically after dark, powered by the algae.

It was unlike anything Will had ever seen, and the more he read, the wider he smiled, sitting up as he crouched over the magazine. Technology and plants working together; it couldn't have been more perfect.

He reread the article a couple times, soaking in the details of the product. The spout at the top made his lips turn in the slightest frown, and his mind launched forward to changes that could be made, shaping the spout to look more natural and attractive without taking away utility. Even the design of the lamp left something to be desired, a straight thin cone with no flair to it. Will huffed out a small breath as he closed the magazine and tucked it under his pillow. It was a brilliant, if uninspired, idea, and he knew exactly who to talk to about it.

  

* * *

 

The next day, Will left the house early, sneaking down the hall and padding down the steps as softly as he could manage. He grabbed an energy bar, the magazine rolled up and tucked in his backpack, and ate it as he put on his boots and rushed out the door. He wanted to talk to Kirin about his idea as soon as he could, and the less Will saw of Xephos and his nosy questions that morning, the better.

No matter how early Will showed up to Kirin's shop, Kirin was always there first; one of the benefits of living right next door. Will sometimes doubted that he lived in the house adjacent, and instead lived in the shop at all hours of the day and night. But he'd been in the house before and saw the lived-in look of it, the belongings and plants scattered about, that spoke of Kirin spending at least a little time away from the shop.

It was barely eight and the front door was unlocked. Will had a key, given to him last autumn, and so was pleasantly surprised to find that the handle turned when he tried it, and he slipped inside quickly, shaking off the last bits of the cold morning.

“Ah, William!”

Will looked up and saw Kirin at the front counter, bent over a logbook. He beamed as Will met his eyes, and set his pen down. “I wasn't expecting you this early.”

Shrugging, Will slipped his backpack off and walked behind the counter, stopping just shy of Kirin and plopping his bag on the floor. “Excited for work,” he said, with a quiet laugh. Kirin didn't laugh with him, only watched intently as Will unzipped his backpack and pulled the magazine out.

The idea of showing the lamps to Kirin had struck him as brilliant the night before, but now, looking at Kirin's attentive gaze, Will hesitated. Kirin kept his shop as low-tech as possible. The only things that ran on electricity were heating and the water system. The cash register was an old, creaking machine built of iron, with firm lever style buttons that took more effort than they should to push down and ring up an item. Everything in the shop was made of wood and greenery, and the lights were oil lamps; a terrible fire hazard, and expensive, but beautiful.

Will hadn't stopped to think about whether Kirin would _want_ algae lamps in his store.

“What's that?” Kirin asked, breaking the silence. He tilted his head and pointed to the magazine clutched tight between Will's fingers.

“Oh, uh--” Will swallowed, stepping back. “Nothing, don't worry about it.”

“Nonsense,” Kirin said calmly, and Will could hear his placating tone, the voice he used to assure Will that he could be honest with Kirin. It was the voice someone would use to soothe a frightened baby deer, and Kirin used it far too often with Will. “You must have brought it for a reason,” Kirin continued, shifting to match Will's movement and closing the space between them. “Is there something you wanted to show me?”

It was the logical conclusion to draw, as Will stood there clutching the magazine, but it still made his cheeks burn to know that Kirin could see through him so easily. “Sorta,” he conceded, and held the magazine out, showing the cover to Kirin. “I picked this up last night.”

“Hm.” Kirin's eyes traced over the cover, and flicked back up to Will. “And I assume you saw something interesting in it?”

“Well, yeah. Maybe.” Will inhaled sharply, shoulders tensing as he pulled the magazine back to himself and started flicking through the pages. “I don't know if you would like it, it's more my style.”

“I'll gladly look,” Kirin said, his voice low and calm. Will paused in his page-turning to eye him for a moment, before he looked back at the magazine, thumbing through until he found the article about the algae lamps. “It's just,” he started, pulling the magazine an inch closer, “I saw these and thought they would be interesting, that we could try carrying them and see what people thought.”

Kirin hummed and turned, standing next to Will and pressing in close, so fast that Will barely had time to flinch. His heat pushed into Will's side, his breath tickling over Will's hair. Will's breath hitched, his fingers frozen around the magazine. He didn't move as Kirin reached up a hand, slowly, to grab the magazine and pull it gently from Will's grasp.

“Algae lamps,” Kirin murmured, holding the magazine by the spine with one hand, the other coming up to settle on Will's back. He rubbed light circles into it, and though Will still had his coat on, the sense of motion helped him relax, letting his breath out as Kirin read.

After a minute, Kirin looked at him, blinked once, and said, “You want to carry these here?”

“Sort of?” Will shrugged, a hand coming up to scratch at his neck. “The design is kind of plain. I'm sure it's efficient, but, I was actually hoping I could figure out a way to make those top spouts look nicer, maybe get some custom lamps. I don't know if they even _do_ custom lamps, the manufacturer might not--”

Kirin smiled and laughed, interrupting Will's babbling. “I think it's a lovely idea,” he said, and grinned, his hand pressing harder into Will's back. “Plants and technology mixed together. Very unique.” He stepped back, his warmth leaving Will, and set the magazine on the counter. “Why don't you think about how you want the lamps to look, and contact the people who make them to find out how the design works, hm?” The skin around Kirin's eyes crinkled as he smiled, his gaze on Will soft and affectionate.

Will warmed under Kirin's attention, nodding. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Excellent.” Kirin leaned in, bringing a hand around Will's head to tug him closer, and kissed Will's forehead. Will took a single sharp breath, and relaxed into the touch, feeling Kirin's breath against his head and his nails scratching pleasantly over his scalp.

Too soon Kirin was gone again, moving around Will and away from the counter. “I have work in the greenhouses,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Can you handle watching the door while you work on your little idea?”

“Yeah, sure.” Will stood straighter, settling his arms on the counter, fingers brushing the edges of the magazine.

Kirin hummed again, and turned, going to the back door that led outside. Will looked down at the magazine beneath his hands, running the pads of his fingers over the glossy edges. Outside, the city was beginning to stir; a tidal wave of a thousand yawns as people woke before their first hours of work, a stretch of telephone cables being pulled in the wind, the crawling fatigue of the rats and pigeons scattering through the streets in search of breakfast.

Will closed his eyes, breathing in. The city was muffled in Kirin's shop, the threshold and greenery acting as a shield from the city’s shouting. Instead it whispered softly in his ear the metal melody it sang, the loom of wires and asphalt woven with every beat of the bodies walking in the streets.

It was faint compared to Kirin's magic, the spell of concrete and early morning sunshine covered by the thick layer of green. It wound over Will's toes and draped across his shoulders, curling over his body the same way Kirin curled around Will when they talked. It was almost too easy for Will to ignore the call of the city, instead pushing his magic out into the shop, over the floor and up the walls, tasting chlorophyll and soft leaves on the tip of his tongue.

He opened his eyes, breaking the soft rhythm, and looked down slowly at the magazine still under his hands. The algae lamp. Right.

Will hummed as he flipped the magazine open again, sparing a glance at the back door before he turned his eyes to the pages. He couldn't see Kirin outside, and knew he was probably tending the plants already, spilling his magic over them to grow lush green stems and vibrant flowers that would draw in eyes from all over the city.

Setting his chin atop on hand, the other turning the pages until he found the lamp again, Will felt for the green again, and pulled the airy magic until it covered him, resting over his shoulders and draping down his back like a familiar blanket. As he started thinking of ways to make the algae lamp more aesthetically pleasing, something that people would come to the shop for, he relished the weight of the green around him, and could have sworn that when he breathed, the scent of the forest filled his lungs.

  

* * *

 

The more Will let himself spill into Kirin's magic, touching over the plants without worrying so much about his own magical skill, the simpler it was to feel the slow pulse of the life in the shop, the way vines and leaves dragged across his skin in a way that no longer tasted of sourness and something intangible that stung behind his eyes, but of freshness that dripped down the back of his throat, leaving him wanting more.

The shop had been a comfort when Will had first arrived, a muffler for the shouts of the city that pulled him away from his own consciousness. Now the city, even when calling Will, was something that thrummed under his skin and buzzed over his ears, and green magic didn't need to be a muffler anymore. Will wanted _more_.

The company that made the containers for the algae lamps were in fact open to making minor design changes. Will asked about something more circular that could be hung instead of resting like an ugly lawn ornament on the floor, and the prices given to him weren't terrible. He'd already made a note to discuss it with Kirin.

It was a week after Will had thrust the magazine at Kirin without the slightest clue as to how he would react. Kirin had started bringing in plants from the greenhouse, eager to get customers started on spring blooms before winter had even ended.

The hanging baskets of flowers and vines, always popular because of their aesthetic appeal, populated the shop's ceiling, stems and petals just barely brushing the top of Will's head. Kirin brought in as many as he dared without being ridiculous about it, keeping them spaced out enough that their vines wouldn't curl and twine with one another.

Will had been tasked with getting a ladder and positioning the hooks on the ceiling. They were plastic and attached with suction cups, the hooks stuck the middle as Will turned them upside down to put on the worn wood of the ceiling. He'd just put the last one up and was climbing down when the back door opened, and Kirin came in, holding a fuchsia plant.

Unlike many of the other plants, which were either vine-y things rich with greens and vibrant leaves falling over the edges of their potted baskets, or flowers with bright blooms that painted color across the ceiling, this fuchsia plant had not yet bloomed. Its flowers, rigid, silken things that looked like pale pink seedpods, were shut tight. The pods would open to reveal bright magenta flowers with long, stringy stamen when it was ready.

“Why did you take that one?” Will asked, climbing down the ladder. “It's not in bloom.”

“It has a sister in here,” Kirin said, and pointed behind Will, who turned to see the other fuchsia plant, hanging near the door; it had bloomed already, flowers burning pink and swaying gently. “I thought the colors would be a nice contrast to the ferns I hung, but.” He smiled faintly, a trace of sadness there, and held up the plant with its still closed flowers. “It has yet to bloom. Its sister has been blooming for about a week. I'm a bit worried it may not have gotten enough sunlight in the greenhouses.”

“So,” Will said, drawing the word out with a confused noise, “what's the point?”

Kirin's brow furrowed slightly, and smoothed out. “It may bloom in the next day or so. I hope it will, at least.” He reached up, hooking the fuchsia on its hold and letting the basket down gently, releasing it with care as he watched it swing from the hook, watching for any kind of disaster. When the hook didn't break and the metal strings attached to the fuchsia's basket stayed strong, Kirin stepped back. “It's a shame it isn't blooming,” he said, “but I won't let a fine plant stay in the greenhouse for too long. Thank you for putting the hooks up. Watch the shop for a bit while I finish.” Kirin tousled Will's hair and turned, already going to the back of the shop again.

Will paused, watching Kirin walk to the back door, leaving to take care of the rest of his plants. Cold air burst inside in the moment the door was open, lingering for a few minutes when it closed again. Will blinked and glanced at the lanterns lighting the shop from the ceiling, hung just high enough not to catch on the hanging baskets. He stole a piece of flame from one, reaching up to cup its heat in his palm, and tossed it toward the door. The heat fanned out and curled around the cold spot, warming it and leveling the temperature in the shop.

He turned and looked at the fuchsia again. It wasn't abnormal for them to take a while to bloom, but if its sister, a plant Kirin had potted at the same time, had been blooming for a week already, it was worrying not to see this one do the same.

It was possible to pop them, to take a flower pod and squeeze the protective shell around its petals until it opened, but it wouldn't help the pollen spread; it would just leave the fuchsia with popped pods and curled petals that still refused to bloom.

Will touched one of the vines hanging down, grabbing a flower pod and turning it this way and that, watching how the light caught over its smooth surface. It looked as healthy as the other fuchsia.

Biting his lip and glancing at the back door to confirm that Kirin wasn't around, Will went to the blooming fuchsia and put both hands on the bottom of the hanging basket. It swung as he grabbed it, and Will steadied the motions before closing his eyes, breathing deep. Around him, at the edge of his consciousness, he could feel Kirin's green magic; it choked the shop's air and swelled in the floor, curling over Will's toes, winding around his throat. It was soft but tangy, sticking to his tongue, and Will had to take a moment to relax and let himself feel it without letting it wash over him and coat his entire being. He didn’t want let the green fill him so much that he lost sense of his natural magic.

Something raced under his fingers, and Will nearly opened his eyes, sensing an expanding and contracting force just beneath his fingertips. The fuchsia plant, breathing with life barely turned bright, its flowers open to the world and begging to be pollinated, stamens waving within their magenta walls. Will swallowed and reached inside himself for something familiar, something warm and tingling and _not his_ , but Kirin's magic had boiled so thick under his skin that Will was never fully without it, and when he touched it, the life of the plant burst outward, nearly choking him. Will's breath hitched as he took it all in.

It curled inwards in gentle strands, and then extended out, like a jellyfish stinger made of chlorophyll and stems. It stained Will's arms with deep green magic, dripping down his fingers and running over his hair, falling from the basket and cascading around him. Will could feel Kirin's touch over his shoulders, wrapping like a shawl and steadying his touch as he felt the thin, wavering magic in front of him.

It was easy enough, with magic so freely given from a blooming plant, for Will to snatch a piece. It squirmed like a vine seeking a support, wriggling over Will's fingers, and he dug his nails into it just enough to calm the energy, to push it down, and turned. The other fuchsia sat dull and closed above his head. Will pursed his lips, took another breath, and stood on tiptoes, holding his hand up. He touched one of the flower pods, the hard shells protecting the silk soft petals inside, and opened his hand, letting the twin green magic of the plant's sister spread out and up with butterfly wings of sunlight and leaves.

The pod popped open. Will jumped back, both hands in front of himself, eyes wide as the green magic rolled out like a carpet, washing over the vines and across the top of the hanging basket, curling across flowers and snapping each pod open, magenta petals unfurling. Their color burned bright under the shop's lamps, and quickly settled, as the plant drank in the taste of life Will had given it.

For a moment, all Will could do was stand, not even breathing.

“William?”

The back door opened, a burst of cold air rushing in. Will tensed and whirled to look at Kirin, hands still up, throat tight and trapping any words that might have come out.

Kirin raised a brow. A tray of small, plastic pots rested on his hands, tiny lilacs rising from the soil. His eyes narrowed briefly at Will, and he set the lilacs down on the closest shelf, his gaze never leaving him. “Is something wrong?”

“No! Uh, I mean.” Will forced himself to breath again, to relax his shoulders. He'd made a fuchsia plant bloom. He'd borrowed magic from another plant and forced _life_ into something dormant. Will had _used_ green magic. “T-The fuchsia,” he said at last, and pointed weakly to it.

Kirin hummed and turned his head just slightly, eyes lingering on Will, and looked at the plant. His eyebrows rose, barely a centimeter but enough to see his surprise, and a flush of pride filled Will, to know he'd caught Kirin off guard for a change.

Stepping closer and reaching out to cup one of the now-blossoming flowers, Kirin smiled. “It decided to show itself after all,” he purred, eyes cutting to Will. “Unless it had some help?”

Will blushed, shrugging. “You know that it did.” Kirin had always been able to read his magic; Will didn't doubt that the rules would be the same for green magic as they were for city magic.

Kirin looked at the fuchsia again, running a finger over one of the flowers and holding a petal. “It looks beautiful,” he said, not meeting Will's gaze. However, he did bring a hand up and rested it over Will's shoulder, slotting there perfectly and weighing over the coat of his magic that Will had already cloaked himself in. The weight of Kirin and his magic both settling on him nearly made Will collapse, tasting moss and leaves at the back of his throat, but his nostrils flared and he stood his ground with feet firm in the shop's carpet, refusing to give in.

“It ought to,” Will said, and didn't give further comment.

Kirin looked at him, lips twisting in a wry grin. “Green magic is amazing,” he said, voice so low that Will nearly missed it. “It tempts even the best of us, Will.”

He knew, of _course_ he knew. Will breathed faster and his nails dug into his palms.

Kirin leaned in and kissed his forehead, and the relief was instantaneous. Kirin's touch was like water across the fire, an off switch of the million electric wires lighting in Will's mind, and he sighed as Kirin nuzzled his hair. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled, thinking of how Kirin's magic had tasted in his throat, thick and cloying and full of trees but too sweet to let go.

“For what?” Kirin laughed as he kissed Will's temple again, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Never apologize for what you can be, William,” he said, scratching at the back of Will's head, through his short hair. “There are too many who do not _have_ power for you to be sorry about yours.”

Will blinked, staring back at Kirin, watching his blue eyes under the soft fires of the shop's lamps, and smiled.

 

* * *

 

Will spent the next few weeks reading everything he could about plants and, when possible, green technology.

He picked up farming magazines, DIY gardening books, bookmarked no less than twenty websites on his phone, and took every spare minute he had at home to read on the latest breakthroughs in agriculture and bioefficiency. Will had made it a habit to learn a few things about technology and cities, about the culture his magic revolved around; he hadn't expected green technology and gardening to be just as interesting.

Though he tried not to, Will couldn't help sharing what he'd found at home, during dinners and over tea, loathe to keep it to himself and unsure how much he wanted to spill in front of Kirin. Honeydew tried and failed to understand what he was talking about, and Lalna turned a blind eye to the green talk, wrinkling his nose at the thought of getting in the dirt and planting, no matter how many pieces of tech Will talked about incorporating into it.

Xephos, however, listened carefully. Will didn't realize how bad that was until mid February.

Will had Fridays off from the shop, giving him long weekends to spend with his family. Xephos usually worked from home, and today, they were eating lunch together. Honeydew had gone out to talk to one of the people who crafted jewelry from his gemstones, and Lalna was at the library, leaving Xephos and Will alone.

Will had cooked them French toast with maple syrup, and was halfway through chewing his first bite when Xephos put down his mug of tea and looked at him sharply.

“Will,” he said, and sighed, shoulders slumping like he already knew that what he had to say wouldn't be pleasant. “I have a question.”

Pausing to swallow, Will's brow furrowed. “About what?”

“About all the . . . _plant_ things, that you've been into lately.” Xephos scratched a hand through his hair, fluffing up the dark strands. “I've seen you reading an awful lot of gardening magazines and books lately.”

Will shrugged. “I work in a garden shop.”

Xephos' lips pulled tight, dissatisfied. “But, Will, you worked there for months before this-- this  _sudden interest_. I thought you just ran the cash register and cleaned up around the place.”

Will could feel where Xephos was going with this. Ever since the incident with the antler ring and Xephos trapping Kirin in a circle, inside their own _house_ , in order to force Kirin to take the ring off Will's finger, Xephos had been nothing but a mother hen. He fussed over Will and asked endless questions about his job, and all Will could ever think to say was that things were going fine and Xephos didn't need to worry.

Kirin was fae, but Will trusted him. That should have been enough.

“Kirin has been teaching me some of what he knows,” Will said, taking his own tea and sipping from it. “It'd be hard to work there for so long and not start to get curious. I just want to know more about his craft so I can be a good employee.”

Xephos turned his head down, staring at his plate for a moment. “I just--”

“Xephos, I'm _f_ _ine_ ,” Will said, reaching across the table. He picked up Xephos' free hand and held it gently, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. They were wrinkled and worn, a sign of too many spells cast and too much worrying done over his lifetime. Xephos was an old man in a relatively young body, always stressed and never calm. He'd even started greying, white hairs peppered far too early around his temple.

“I know you're fine now,” Xephos said, cupping Will's hand in his own. “I worry about where you might be headed.”

Tensing, Will pulled his hand back. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Xephos' eyes flicked back up. “You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don't.” Will's nostrils flared, and he forced himself to breathe, to find his heartbeat and be sure it was beating with his own body and not the rhythm of the buses and trains and footsteps of the city. “I'm working at a job I like and trying to do it competently. I can't understand why you insist on acting like I'm putting myself in the firing line every time I leave the house.”

“Kirin is a _faerie_ ,” Xephos spat. _  
_

Will stood, chair scraping on the wood floor, the table jostling when he hit it. He narrowed his eyes and breathed again, keeping himself present and in his body. Like Kirin had taught him.

“I know you don't trust them,” he said, “but Kirin has done nothing to me.”

Xephos moved to match Will, palms slamming flat on the table and shaking their plates. “Don't you remember what I told you after the holidays?!”

“Not to accept gifts from fae,” Will said, voice as calm as he could manage and still shaking around the edges. He could see the terror and anger in Xephos' face, his lips pulled tight and his brows furrowed so deep that it made him look a decade past his age. “But,” he continued, and Xephos went stiff as he spoke, “I haven't accepted anything.”

“He gave you a bloody _ring_.”

“That _you_ made him take off,” Will snarled, teeth bared, hands clenched into tight fists at his side. “I got my _own_ job and I work for him on my _own_ time.”

“You're in his _debt_!”

Will's eyes went wide, breath hitching. Xephos stared, lips parted, hands in the air like he would stop whatever Will might do, but Will just stood there, looking back.

When he found his voice again, Will said, “I don't owe _anyone_.” He hissed the word with a glare straight at Xephos' bright blue eyes, and ignored the concern and regret etched in the lines of his face.

Straightening his shoulders, Will stomped past, deliberately crashing into Xephos' side and shoving away. Xephos didn't move or react at first. Will walked out of the kitchen and made it to the staircase, before he heard his name. “Will!” Xephos sounded strained, unsure, and Will's teeth clicked together as he snapped his own mouth shut, forcing himself to stay quiet and rush up the stairs without looking back.

The attic was cold, the winter wind seeping in the walls and windows, chilling the air and falling over the furniture. Will suppressed a shiver as he sat on the bed, sinking into the shallow mattress and feeling the bounce of the springs underneath.

From his spot on the bed, Will could see his dresser, and the gardening magazines he’d stacked on top. He growled and pushed himself up, snatching the pile. He'd found a magazine he liked and had bought the last two monthly copies; the rest were pieces he'd picked up because they looked interesting, with flashy covers or in-depth articles. Xephos had seen him carry them all inside, settling on the couch or at the kitchen table to peruse them.

Xephos didn't trust Kirin. And he most certainly didn't trust Will.

If that were the case, two could play at that game.

Will went back to the bed and stepped around to the foot of it, bending down in front of the footlocker he'd brought all his worldly possessions in when he moved to the city. It had a padlock on its metal latch, the key still stuck in it. Will hadn't kept anything inside it, with so much room in the attic, and hadn't had anything to hide from his family.

He pulled the lock off and opened it, the lid creaking with disuse. It was old, a family heirloom. His parents had told him that there was magic in age, in fondness, and had given him the footlocker that they'd used to pack their things when moving to their first apartment as a young couple. Will had tasted the magic of love and care packed into the grooves of the blue painted wood, how time had worn at the edges but hadn't broken them, how the metal stayed firmly in place despite the locker having spent a majority of its time in a closet.

It would do well.

Will picked up the magazines and piled them inside, tucking them into a neat stack and pushing them in the corner. He put the lid down slowly, and tested the give to be sure of its weight before slipping the padlock back on.

Taking the key, Will held it tight in his palm. The padlock was new, the original one broken and shattered into rust years ago. The new key shone in the attic's single lamp just above the bed.

Will closed his fingers around the key and held it up to his lips.

“No one's allowed,” he whispered, and could feel the wind of the city, the rumbling of trucks as the keys were turned in their engines, the beeps of electronic bank vaults, the jingle of the keys the mail person used on every public mailbox in the city. Safes and bike chains and tumbler locks, everything in the city that kept privacy to its rightful owners, that kept strangers away. “No one,” Will said, “and especially not Xephos.”

The key burned in his palm, the spell of a thousand locks forced into its tiny metal frame. When Will opened his fingers, it looked no different than before. But he could feel the weight, how it had changed. The key wouldn't work for anyone but him.

If Xephos wanted to catch Will being a good employee and learning about his damn job again, he'd have to settle for watching Will leave in the mornings, knowing that he wouldn't come back until dark.

Will gripped the key again, and gave a satisfied sigh at the way the teeth on the metal dug into his skin.

 

* * *

 

Visiting Kirin's home always felt like crossing a portal into another world. Will never felt quite comfortable no matter how many accommodations Kirin made for him, and in the back of his mind was always the quiet, chiding voice of Xephos, telling him that he should get out while he was still alive.

Will ignored it, on a late night in February, as he sat in Kirin's kitchen and watched him cook. They'd closed the shop an hour ago, and Kirin, after giving Will a long look, had invited him to spend a little time at his house. Will had insisted that Xephos would want him home soon, to have dinner with his family, but he couldn't deny that spending extra time with Kirin was nice, and had eagerly followed him through the shop and to the other side of the building, to the door that opened into Kirin's home.

It was convenient, to live in the same building as the shop. Kirin had mentioned multiple times that the commute was the best part of the job. The house was old, but everything inside was refurbished or replaced. Will could never place the style, and hadn't bothered to ask Kirin, but the ceilings were high with thick support beams, and the corners all had nature decals carved into the wood bordering the walls. The windows, which shook with the slightest wind, had metal frames crisscrossing over frosted glass, giving the house a secluded feeling, and adding to the effect that the rest of the city didn't exist when Will sat inside Kirin's threshold.

He'd taken up residence on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs as Kirin cut pieces of mushroom. Will was short enough that even the chairs, built for Kirin's stature, made him feel like a child, and he preferred taking up counter space in quiet protest.

As Kirin moved back and forth, between the pantry and the counter and the fridge, he paused to feed Will bits of his food. He was making broiled steak and mushroom sauce, and Will's belly had already been half-filled by green onions and bits of bread. Now, Kirin tossed mushrooms and rich broth into a pan with the onions and some butter, and held up a couple mushrooms in his palm.

“Do you like these?” he asked, popping one in his mouth.

Will hummed in affirmative, and Kirin crossed the kitchen in a single stride, holding a mushroom up for him. Will leaned forward and took it between his teeth, waiting until Kirin let go to slide it in his mouth. It was thick, and the juice burst over his tongue, tangy with a sour edge.

Kirin's hand slid down Will's face and cupped his jaw. His fingers barely touched him, and Will shifted, pushing into the touch. Kirin moved to tangle fingers in his hair, nails grazing Will's scalp. Green magic sprung wherever Kirin touched, thick in the air and pouring from his person, so much that Will would have drowned if it had any substance. It wound over his hands where they clenched on the edges of the counter, and wrapped in thick webs across his feet, twining over his shoes.

Will shook his hands gently and covered his palms with the edges of his sweater. He could feel himself getting lost as Kirin stood in front of him, broad chest so close to Will's and his hand rubbing down the back of his neck. The green magic still curled around his ankles, and it was a long minute until Will realized he'd closed his eyes, and opened them, kicking his legs again. The green magic snapped with ease, but didn't retreat, and Will looked up to meet Kirin's eyes.

Smiling, Kirin leaned down and kissed his forehead. Will took a sharp breath, and Kirin was gone again, taking up a knife to start cutting chives.

“Kirin?” he asked, and the sound of his own voice startled him. The quiet and the sizzling of the pan had settled so well over the kitchen, that breaking the silence was like snapping a piano wire.

“Yes?”

Licking his lips, Will said, “What did you do with the antler ring?”

A pause. Kirin's hands hovered over the cutting board, the knife held tight between his fingers. Kirin turned slowly, and blinked, glancing up and down Will's body. When their eyes met again, he said, “I locked it away after your uncle expressed his distaste.”

Will swallowed, hands settling in his lap and clutching each other, his fingers tight. “Where?”

Kirin's eyes narrowed briefly, and he went back to chopping the chives, lips turned down. “I agreed to remove it,” he said, his voice clipped. “You shouldn't be asking questions.”

“Kirin.”

Will waited until Kirin looked at him again, and hopped down, striding over until he was next to him, their bodies nearly touching. Kirin's nostrils flared, arms tense, and Will kept their eyes locked. “You agreed to take the ring off,” he said, and Kirin's eyebrow quirked, curious. Will smiled. “Did you agree not to put the ring back _on_?”

Kirin frowned, but it melted a moment later, and he laughed, beaming down at him. He dropped his knife to reach around and curl his palm over the back of Will's neck, pulling him in for a quick kiss. It was warm and light, and when Kirin pulled back, he'd snatched another piece of mushroom, holding it up.

Will frowned and tried to protest, but when he opened his mouth, Kirin cupped his jaw again, shaking his head as he pushed the mushroom at him. Will's brow furrowed, and he took it obediently. Kirin released him, picking the knife back up. The sound of the pan and the rhythmic chopping of the knife echoed in the kitchen, Kirin still smiling with some unknown joke, and Will waited a few minutes at his side.

An answer never came. Will settled against the counter with crossed arms, watching Kirin cook, and though the grin faded, he gave no indication of saying anything, only turning the heat down on the pan and bending down in front of the oven to check on the beef broiling inside.

Kirin remained silent for the next half hour, until the sauce had finished and he started pulling plates from the cupboard. He glanced at the clock, and down at Will. “Your uncle will want you home for dinner,” he said, moving the pan off the burner, not looking at him.

Will's shoulders slumped, defeated. “Yeah. He will.”

The kitchen had a coat rack next to the door, as the first room in the house and the closest to the front hall. Will plucked his coat off it and shrugged it on, glancing at Kirin a few times. Kirin had set up a plate, bowl, and utensils for himself. It should have been insulting, to know so blatantly that he wasn't invited to dinner, but Will could hardly blame Kirin for being wary of Xephos. The last time he'd ignored an obvious warning, Kirin had been stuck inside a magic circle.

With his coat on, Will followed Kirin out, to the front door. He could see the snow outside, how it fell down the streets at an angle with the harsh wind blowing. The street was covered in salt and mush, and the sidewalk had a light dusting over it. Nothing that would slow down his walk home.

“One last question,” Will said, facing Kirin, who met his eyes with curious amusement. “Where did you get the ring?” he asked, holding back the wobble in his voice. There weren't any deer in the city to provide antlers-- they didn't have any forests close enough-- and Will couldn't picture Kirin _buying_ something like that, so delicate and obviously made of the nature Kirin loved.

Kirin grinned, flashing his teeth in the dull hallway light. “Some gifts are better when they are personal,” he said, leaning forward to settle his hand on the doorknob. “Buying a gift like that wouldn't have been right.”

Will frowned at the cryptic answer and opened his mouth to ask for more, but Kirin pulled the door back, his other hand on Will's shoulder, shoving him onto the front step. “Hurry,” he urged, blocking the doorway with his body and pulling at the shoulders of Will's coat, tucking it tight around him. “Before your uncle summons me again.”

Swallowing, Will nodded and tried to laugh. The joke wasn't quite there, though, and when he looked at Kirin again, his eyes were cold, reflecting the pale glitter of the snow.

Will gave him a weak wave, and Kirin returned it, waiting for Will to step away from the door before he turned and went inside. Will stood for a moment, watching the dark shape of Kirin in the frosted glass window of the front door until the light in the foyer flicked off, and he saw something move in the kitchen window next to it. Will pulled the zipper of his coat up to his chin and fluffed up the neckline, turning to take the long walk to the bus stop.

He settled his hands deep in his pockets, but Will could feel the city, the lights turning red, green, yellow, on the streets, the trains rumbling underground, the quiet breaths of the people out on late night walks, the animals jumping into trash cans in search of a meal. The snow covered it all in a chilled blanket, masking anything dangerous in a sheet of white.


	2. Chapter 2

Business boomed in the spring.

March came and the snow melted, and Kirin's shop grew busy. It did well enough in the summer to keep it afloat through the winter, and even if it didn't, Will didn't doubt Kirin's ability to pull some strings and keep the lights on throughout the year regardless of finances.

When the green buds started blooming on the trees and the people poked their heads in Kirin's door with hopes of plants to try out for the year, Will took advantage of Kirin's distractions to delve deep into the green magic.

He'd done it enough over the winter, felt out the green and saw ghost images of the vines and leaves woven through the shop, that Will could dip into Kirin's magic with barely a thought. Actually _using_ it was more difficult, a task that grated on Will's mind in a way the city magic used to, when he'd first moved in with Xephos, but Will reveled in the feeling of green magic cascading over his skin, winding around his limbs, touching his lips as gently as Kirin did.

Will managed the cash register and helped customers when he could. When he couldn't, Kirin took over, leaving his greenhouses as often as he could to guide the patrons around, speaking of growth cycles and seasons and how best to use fertilizer.

When Kirin wasn't watching, Will liked to run his hands over the plants. He found the ones nearest to the front counter and looked for signs of decay, brown leaves and dry stems, and stretched his magic out, rolling under Kirin's touch and scooping bits of it for himself, healing the plants where they needed it most. Will's magic flared and twisted around the green like a steel cable, rooting itself between Kirin's branches, and Will breathed easier each time he did it, melding city and green together as he buried himself in fresh dirt and life.

If Kirin noticed at all, he didn't say anything. Will wasn't sure how he would excuse himself, if he did.

Spring was also the time of activity at home, and when Will woke up on his day off, feeling fresh from dreams of forests and the taste of leaves, he pulled on the first outfit he found and tramped down the stairs. He could taste new life on the air; a buzz went down his spine, through his limbs, just to _know_ that he could even feel that much about green magic.

His senses were proven right when Will opened the back door and found Xephos, Honeydew, Lalna, and Ross all on the backyard. They all turned to say quick morning greetings to Will, and returned to their tasks.

Lalna was on the porch with his iPad, tapping his fingers quickly across the screen, papers spread across his lap. He'd been working for a new phone company in the city and had been burying himself in the work since January. Will glanced briefly at him, and turned his gaze over the garden.

Xephos' garden took up half the yard space, the other half occupied by a tall tree and the small path that led to the back gate, opening to the street beyond. Xephos had a firm spell on the threshold to keep intruders out, but, failing that, there was also an alarm on the house itself that Will had fortified with an extra spoonful of magic shortly after moving in.

Each year, the household planted everything from gladiolas to pumpkins. Honeydew liked eating organic and Xephos claimed that ingredients filled with a personal touch made for stronger spells. It hadn't taken Will long to figure out that he liked helping in the family garden.

In spring it was time to plant, and if they didn't have too much rain, the vegetables would be ready by summer.

Will adjusted his sweater, shaking off the brisk spring air, and walked down the porch, to the garden, to see Honeydew buried elbow deep in the dirt, digging holes for the newest seeds.

“Hi, Will.”

The soft voice came from his left, and Will turned, smiling at Ross, sitting on the ground with a dozen seed packets around him. His glass horns twinkled, and his tail flexed, running back and forth over the muddy grass. He didn't seem to mind the wet ground soaking his jeans, beaming up at Will with pale skin that glinted in the sun.

The friendship Will had struck with Ross had been an unlikely one, but after certain . . . _events_ , involving the Garbage Court and Will's first months in the city, Ross had banged on his bedroom window one night at two in the morning, with a pack of beers in one hand. Will hadn't accepted the beer, still too young to drink at the time, but he'd let Ross in, and slowly found they got along better than he would have thought.

Now, Ross liked to help around the house. Gardening was one of his favorite activities.

Xephos was watering the tree behind him, and inspecting the branches. Will settled on the grass at Ross' side, bumping their shoulders together. “Hi. I haven't seen you in a while.”

“Ah, yeah, you know.” Ross shrugged. “Trott had business during the holidays and then Sips wanted to keep us at home for a while, enjoy staying inside during the cold.”

Will nodded, his eyes sliding back to Honeydew digging in the dirt. The idle action was nice to focus on, as Honeydew scraped up dirt and rocks with his a sharp spade and piled seeds into the holes he made, patting the ground gently when he covered them back up. They'd already upturned the soil the day before, picking out the large rocks and shifting the winter-chilled dirt with the fresher substance underneath.

Honeydew was on his knees, shuffling around in the garden. Will sat up straighter, and said, “Do you want a hand?”

Pausing, Honeydew looked up. “What, with the digging?”

“Yeah.” Will shrugged a shoulder. “You've only got a couple rows done.”

“Well, yes, but.” Honeydew scrunched his face, beard twisting over his lips. “You _hate_ the digging. Practically cried when you got dirt under your nails last year.”

“I did _not_ ,” Will snapped playfully, forcing himself up. The ground, wet from melting snow, had already soaked his pants, and he ignored the gross squish on his skin as he stepped past the small sticks-and-string border around the garden, towering over Honeydew with his arms crossed over his chest. “I _grew_ _up_ in the countryside. I was upset because no one checked for sharp rocks and I nearly lost a nail.”

Honeydew scoffed, but smiled as he tossed Will a seed packet and the spade. “Here, then, if you're so eager. Do up the flower seeds on the other side, Xeph's been bugging me about getting them done.”

Xephos made an indignant noise from across the yard, where he was pruning the tree.

Will glanced at the packet-- morning glories-- and held the spade tight in his other hand. “Don't you need this?”

Honeydew shrugged, digging into the dirt with his hands just as easily as he'd dug with the spade, if a bit slower. “It's the only one we got. I'm fine.”

Will watched him a moment longer, and shook his head, walking to the other side of the garden to start planting the flowers. They had a row of trellises for the vines, and he bent down, digging shallow holes in front of the metal bars and pouring the seeds in the dirt.

Ross came up and sat at the edge, still clutching the packets given to him. His job became clear when Honeydew hollered for more seeds, and Ross threw him a pack, the others tight in his stone fingers. Will grinned and laughed as Honeydew snatched the packet from the air.

In his joy at watching the family sit together in the backyard, Will had almost forgotten about the green magic.

He dug into the earth and felt it immediately, the nutrients and soil and bugs all permeating the ground beneath him, spreading over his hands and winding around his fingers. Will's breath hitched, and he paused, staring at the hole he'd dug. He glanced to the side, caught Ross frowning at him, and quickly turned back to the dirt. The green magic here was similar to the shop, and yet, nothing like Will had ever felt.

As always, Kirin's presence dangled at the edges of Will's consciousness, teasing around his neck as Will stretched his fingers and ran his own magic across the rocks, the worms, the bits of dirt and the roots buried deep underground. Magic soaked in his skin, tightening in a vice around his ankles, and something pulled at his throat, piercing the skin and choking him, filling his head and he could feel the sharp tang of _green_ behind his eyes, flooding his mouth, life and sun and blindness in the soil, all of it burning through him and digging at something in his chest--

“Hey! Will, hey!”

He blinked and gasped, the taste of dirt falling off his tongue as he breathed in. Will turned, saw Ross looking at him with furrowed brows, leaning over the edge of the garden's boundary. Another turn, to see Honeydew with pursed lips. Xephos and Lalna were unaware, too far to see him lose himself, and Will blushed, glancing away.

“You okay, mate?” Ross asked gently, reaching over to brush his fingers, heavy and solid, over Will's shoulder.

“Yeah, fine.” Will nodded and forced a smile. “I forgot how cold it is, is all. I should have brought an extra sweater.”

Ross titled his head, unconvinced, but drew back to settle on the ground again, his blue glass tail flicking uneasily at his side.

Will could feel eyes on him, watching him; Honeydew's sharp, suspicious gaze. He and Xephos had both been on his case since the antler ring, never letting him live down any strange behavior. Xephos hadn't spoken to him about the magazines since Will had hidden them, making sure not to read them in front of anyone and using his phone rather than his laptop to look up anything about plants, but the unease was still there. Will still caught Xephos' eyes lingering on him when he left for work in the mornings, how Honeydew's nose scrunched when he came home smelling of moss and fertilizer. Neither of them had dropped their suspicions for a minute.

Will kept his eyes on the soil and the seeds, breathing deep to keep the green magic from choking him. 

They worked in the garden until the afternoon, planting all the seeds and casting netting over the ground to keep stray animals from nibbling once they sprouted. Ross picked himself up off the ground, flicking one of the empty seed packets from his hand, and bid a quick farewell; his visits were often at night, to Will's room, when his court was asleep and they wouldn't wonder where he'd gone. When Ross visited for gardening or stayed for dinner, he never lingered longer than he thought he should.

Will waved goodbye as Ross passed over the threshold of the backyard fence, crossing the street and turning the corner, out of sight as fast as he'd come. Watching another moment to be sure he was gone, Will turned, ready to go back inside and warm up from the chill of early spring.

A hand caught his wrist, and he stopped, looking behind him. Xephos had grabbed him, his eyes narrowed. “Will,” he said, voice clipped. “Can we have a word?”

Will inhaled quickly, the hairs on the back of his neck raising at Xephos' tone, but he nodded.

Honeydew and Lalna ducked inside, Lalna taking up space on the living room couch with a book, Honeydew tramping down to the basement to work on his gems. Xephos kept his hold on Will and brought them upstairs, to the study.

Will swallowed, fingers flexing in a weak attempt to break Xephos' hold. The study was as good as forbidden. Once, it had been a bedroom, but Xephos had converted it into a study, dragging in a mahogany desk and an armoire and casting out the shabby bed frame that had been there when he and Honeydew had bought the place. The bed frame was in the basement now, and served as an unconventional shelf for Honeydew's rocks.

When Xephos wasn't in the kitchen casting spells and bottling charms to sell, he was in the study, planning new and better ways to use his magic. In addition to the desk and armoire, the study had a couch; the small loveseat was one of the pieces of old furniture Xephos and Honeydew had kept from the previous owners. The wooden legs were aged and splintered on the ends, and the couch groaned when Will sat gingerly on it, taking his wrist back from Xephos. The couch held him steady despite its protests, and because it rested against the wall, it was the perfect place to cower when Xephos turned his hard eyes on Will.

“Will,” he said, his voice still harsh. He paused, looking Will up and down, and his shoulders slumped a bit. “Will,” he said, softer, “how are you doing at the shop?”

Not _this_ again. Will frowned. “I'm fine, thanks.”

Xephos shifted on his feet, hesitating. “There aren't any . . . problems, working there?”

Will bristled. “No, there aren't. It's fun, actually. Kirin's been teaching me, like he has been this entire time. I told you about my raise a couple weeks ago. He says I'm doing good work.”

Xephos' brow knit, and he pursed his lips, holding a breath in for a long moment. Will waited, and when it seemed Xephos might start turning purple from lack of oxygen, he opened his mouth. Xephos let his breath out before Will could ask, and took the chair from behind the desk. It was tall, carved in rococo style, and clashed with the squareness of his desk, but it suited Xephos as he set it in front of the couch and sat down, hands clasped in his lap.

“I've told you this before,” Xephos started.

“A million times,” Will added, rolling his eyes.

Xephos frowned and reached out to smack Will's knee. “This is serious, Will. I want to talk to you about this.”

“What's there to talk _about_?” Will rested a hand on one arm of the couch, running the other through his hair. “We have this talk two or three times a month. You chide me for deciding to work with a faerie, and I tell you every single time that I _like_ working for Kirin. It helps me get away from the city and it's enjoyable. I started working there because Kirin was nice and the shop is interesting, and I'm tired of going around and around in circles.” He sighed, looking into Xephos' eyes. “Can't that be enough for you?”

Xephos' lips scrunched together, fighting another frown. “I understand,” he said, sounding for all the world like he thought Will was a toddler. “But, Will,” he said, getting desperate, hands fidgeting in his lap, “working with a faerie was _never_ a good idea. I didn't like it when you started, but I didn't say anything because, well.” He huffed out a quiet breath. “At first I didn't even _know_ you'd started, and by then you were adamant about it, about getting away from the city. I thought it would be all right, if you only worked one or two days a week. Your headaches got better, and--” He cut off, shrugging helplessly. “I stayed quiet for the sake of your health.”

Will tensed, ducking his head. “It _did_ help. I never lied about that.”

“I didn't say you did.” Xephos leaned forward, and Will looked up, seeing the wrinkles in his brow and the way his hands twisted over his own fingers, trying to cling to something. “I'm worried,” he said, barely above a whisper. “If you aren't careful, Kirin will swallow you whole, the way all fae do, and you'll never be the same.”

Blood rushed to Will's face, hot shame flooding him, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He'd never meant to make Xephos worry. Kirin had never hurt him, not like other fae. He wasn't like the small trickster fae Will had met while living in the countryside, and he _certainly_ wasn't like the Garbage Court. Will would never associate with Trott or Smithy-- Ross was the exception-- because he knew what bad fae looked like.

For a second, Will almost wished he _could_ leave Kirin, that he weren't bound by magic and affection in a tangled web that, even now, coiled over his ankles and wrists, tugged at the soft skin around his neck.

He couldn't leave Kirin, but now, Will didn't particularly want to.

Sitting up and dropping his arms, Will met Xephos' gaze again. “I've grown a lot under Kirin's guidance,” he said, and he could see the way it crushed Xephos, how the words made him bite his lip and look at Will with the hope that some sort of contradiction would follow. “I like working for him,” Will said, and Xephos' expression fell, dropping with the weight of heavy stones. “Kirin's already changed me, and I'm nothing like I was when I first moved here last year. I'm _better_ , Xephos.”

Will leaned forward and took one of Xephos' hands, curling his fingers over it. “I can command the city spectacularly,” he said, and smiled. Will had thought the city chaotic when he'd first come, attacked by blaring car horns and animal cries and the screech of train tracks in the subway at each stop. “It's a symphony, something beautiful, and I didn't see that until Kirin opened my eyes.”

“I know--” Xephos tried.

Will shook his head before Xephos could finish. “He helped me control my magic. And I'm learning more every day. You don't need to be so worried. Kirin has only ever shown me good things.”

Xephos looked at him, and at their joined hands, Will's pale fingers over his own darker ones. He turned his palm, taking Will's hand in a tighter grasp. “I thought you'd say that.” He looked at Will again, shaking his head. “I didn't expect to change your mind.”

“Nice try, though.” Will laughed, but it died shortly, Xephos still staring at him.

“I know it's your choice,” he said, searching Will's eyes as he picked his words. “But for g _od's_ sake, William, if Kirin asks you to do any favors, please, _try_ to say no. Don't let him bend you to his whims, _protect_ yourself. The last thing I want to see is you at Kirin's beck and call.”

Will did his best not to reply sarcastically, and forced a smile instead. “Of course. I wouldn't lose who I am just because I care about Kirin. You know me better than that.”

Xephos leaned back, breaking the hold of their hands. “I hope so.”

Will waited by the study door while Xephos put his chair back behind the desk, and they both went downstairs to the kitchen. It was late afternoon and Will was more exhausted than he'd thought. Thankfully, Honeydew was already in the kitchen, putting on a pot of tea. If Honeydew possessed any kind of magic outside stones and gems, it was the ability to sense with perfect accuracy when his husband needed a cup of tea, no matter how far apart they were.

Will sat in the living room while the water boiled, and glanced from his spot on the armchair, to the couch where Lalna was still reading. “Did Xephos ever give the other Lalna crap for hanging around with fae?” he asked.

Lalna jumped, looking away from his book for what must have been the first time in hours. He glanced around until he caught Will's eye. “I'm sorry?”

“Nano,” Will said, eyes flicking to the kitchen. Xephos was pulling herbs out, turned just slightly toward the open doorway. Will looked at Lalna again. “Did Xephos ever talk to your clone about hanging around with a dryad?”

Sitting up, Lalna looked at the floor, thinking. He didn't like talking about his twin; Xephos had _made_ Lalna, out of stone and clay and magic words, and he rarely talked about the fact that Xephos had been so enthusiastic to finally have a child that he'd accidentally made an extra person, two copies of the same enchantment. The other Lalna lived with a dryad called Nano, and Lalna never mentioned him.

Clone wasn't the right word for them, but neither was twin, and Will hadn't had to ask Lalna about the other one often enough to decide which word was better.

“At first, he did,” Lalna said, following Will's gaze to the kitchen. The noises of tea preparation had stopped, but he kept speaking, low and soft. “He was concerned, like any parent would be. But Nano promised she wouldn't harm him, and the other Lalna talked a lot about how she needed a companion and someone to watch her tree, and whatnot. I didn't really talk to him much about it.”

“I see.” Will leaned back, bringing his feet up to curl against his chest. “And do _you_ have an opinion on Kirin?”

Lalna frowned, and shrugged. “I don't like him, but you do, and that's your business. Just don't get hurt.”

Will hummed, and Lalna took that as a good enough sign, picking his book up from his lap and settling back on the couch.

Looking at the kitchen again, Will saw Xephos staring at him. He turned away quickly, opening a box of tea and parsing out the leaves into glasses for each of them. Will watched for a moment, and dug his phone from his pocket.

He'd bookmarked an article about solar powered greenhouses a couple days ago, and he wanted to read while he drank his tea.

 

* * *

 

Since staying with Nilesy and Lomadia during the antler ring incident, Will had been friendlier with Nilesy at the shop. He stopped by once a month or so for supplies, picking up herbs and sometimes small garden crafts to add to his charms. Usually when he came in, Kirin handled him, taking Nilesy by the elbow and guiding him around the shop as Will watched from the front counter or over his shoulder while organizing shelves.

When Nilesy came in on a morning in early June, Kirin wasn't there.

Will looked up from the book he'd been reading, something on poisonous plants that he'd bought when he'd been at the bookstore downtown the week before. His eyes went wide at the sight of Nilesy, hair fluffed from the summer wind and his black glasses frames sliding down his crooked nose. “Hello,” he said politely, an automatic reaction to customers, and put the book to the side. “Nilesy, it's nice to see you. How are you?”

Nilesy looked up as he smoothed his shirt, smiling at Will. “Hey! Nice to see you too, you weren't around when I came in last. I'm doing fine.” He stopped fiddling with his shirt and finally pushed his glasses back, blinking as he glanced around the room. “Where's Kirin?”

“Not here,” Will said, walking out from behind the counter. “He wanted to try selling some hedge saplings, so he went to a nursery outside of town to see what kind of stock they had. People around here don't really have the room to buy trees, but.” Will shrugged. “He knows better than I do. So did you need something?”

Nilesy frowned, looking around the shop again, as if Kirin might materialize if he looked hard enough. “He's not here?”

“No,” Will said slowly, tucking a hand into his pants pocket. “Just me. If you know what I can get you, though, I'm perfectly capable of fetching it for you.”

“Oh, well.” Nilesy scratched at the back of his head. “Just the, ah, usual, I guess. I'm doing some charms for the summer solstice and a couple for the harvest later this summer. Everyone's clamoring for them this time of year.”

Humming, Will turned to the shelves against the wall, tilting his head as he searched over them. He'd counted inventory enough times to know what Nilesy usually got, but he often bought an extra herb or ingredient to his stocks, to add to the flavor of the season. For the summer solstice, charcoal would help; Kirin kept the burnt branches at the very back, tucked behind a box of handmade herb soaps. Will plucked rosemary, lilac, and dried lemon slices as he went, and rummaged through the charcoal until he had a few small packs, wrapped in neat plastic.

On his way back, Will pulled out apple slices and a jar of honey from their shelf of bee-related products, for the harvest charms. He spread the collection out on the front counter, slipping one of the packets of lilac to the side; Nilesy bought specific amounts each time, wary of accidental debts with Kirin. Lomadia was like a guard dog, stomping into the shop with a snarl if she ever thought Kirin was pulling tricks.

Nilesy fidgeted in front of the counter, shifting on his feet. “Actually,” he said, and Will looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Um,” he continued, rubbing a few fingers under his jaw. “Could I have some mint, too?”

Will paused, frowning. Nilesy never bought more than he'd prepared to come for, and mint wasn't on the list of his usual supplies. “Any particular reason?”

Biting his lip, Nilesy said, “Lomadia brought some home a while ago, and Fishbone _loves_ the stuff. It's like catnip for him, which is weird, because he doesn't like catnip. But I was hoping I could get a plant to keep at home, try to grow some for myself.”

Will pursed his lips. Kirin didn't mind him managing the shop and helping customers when he wasn't around, but he preferred to sell plants on his own time. Kirin always talked of delicate balances in the greenhouse and how he needed to be sure a plant was flourishing before selling it, ensuring the customers got the best for their money so they would want to come back. Will was his apprentice but he wasn't yet a gardener, were his words.

Taking a deep breath, Will said, “I think it's fine. Let me get one for you.”

Nilesy brightened, a tentative smile pulling at his lips. “Very kind of you, Will. Uh, I suppose I can say thanks.”

Will laughed and shook his head, stepping out from behind the counter. The rules of gratitude around fae were well known. No doubt Nilesy had taught himself never to _think_ of the phrase 'thank you' while in Kirin's shop. Will had had to catch himself more than a few times after Xephos warned him against the binding contract of words with fae.

The mint was in the greenhouse on the left side of the yard behind the shop, and Will hurried inside, running down the rows of tables to find it. Mint grew like fire spread; Kirin wouldn't miss one pot, even if he hadn't given Will permission to sell it.

He found a tray of them, and plucked one of the greener plants up. It sat in a thin, black plastic pot, and would need to be transferred to something bigger soon. Will tucked the plant against his chest and walked back to the shop, wary of leaving Nilesy alone too long.

Nilesy was still at the counter, arms tight against his side, looking like he didn't want to break anything. Will put the mint on the counter and rang it up with everything else, writing down the prices on a notepad. Kirin's cash register was at least a century old, too many years beyond it to bother entering any kind of price on its manual levers that stood in for modern buttons. Will pushed the 'sale' lever to open it, and Nilesy dug out his wallet.

“Kirin doesn't usually let me sell plants,” Will said, pulling a brown paper bag from underneath the counter and shaking it out. “Be sure to ask him next time, if you want more mint or anything else.”

“Well, ah, thank you again for this, then.” Nilesy put his money down and took the bag from Will, peeking inside as Will made change. Will caught the tiny grin on his face, handing over the bills. Nilesy wiped the expression off his face just as quickly, a slow blush burning up his neck, and he turned to leave.

“Come again,” Will said, smiling. Nilesy looked back briefly to wave, and opened the door.

The bright summer sun poured in, and it glinted in a sheen off Nilesy's hair. Will squinted. Something winding and green flashed between the strands, wrapping around the curls, and he leaned forward to get a better look.

But the door closed, and Nilesy was gone. Will frowned. Whatever was in Nilesy's hair could have been a trick of the sunlight, but if Nilesy had gotten something caught in it on his way over, Will would have liked to have told him, so he could get it out.

No use moaning about it. Will pulled up one of the chairs behind the counter and planted himself in it, crossing his arms over his chest. It was late afternoon, and business would kick up soon, as people stopped into the shop on their ways home from work. Kirin would be back soon, too, and Will could tell him about the minor change to his stock.

 

* * *

 

At precisely five o' clock, the bell above the shop door rang, and Kirin walked in, footsteps muffled on the soft carpet, his face relaxed.

Will looked up from where he was reorganizing the shelves, tucking the goods back into their places after they'd been jostled around by customers. Kirin smiled and met his eyes. Will set down the pots he'd been holding, rushing to him.

“How was your day?” he asked, stopping just in front of Kirin, almost close enough to touch.

Kirin shrugged, taking off his sweater. It was more for fashion than for the weather, thin and tight enough to stretch around his arms. “There are some nice bushes for sale at a nursery down the main road out of the inner city,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “People like to plant privacy hedges this time of year, so I ordered a few. They should be here in a week or so.” He touched Will lightly on the shoulder as he passed, moving behind the counter. “How was work?”

“Good.” Will stood in front of the counter and leaned his forearms over it, watching Kirin open the cash register and glance at the logbook. “Nilesy came in.”

“Did he?” Kirin hummed, eyes scanning down the list of sales.

“He, um.” Will swallowed. “He asked for a mint plant, for his house. So I sold him one.”

Kirin stopped, and turned his gaze on Will. Shivering, Will dropped his eyes to the countertop. “I hope it was all right, it was just one plant. I figured you wouldn't mind so much, since, you know, Nilesy and I are friends.” He glanced up, prepared for a scolding.

Instead, Kirin considered him a moment, and slowly, his lips spread in a gentle smile. He reached up and scrubbed a hand through Will's hair. “Of course that's all right, Will. Why wouldn't it be?”

His voice was honey and milk, soothing over Will's nerves. He hadn't expected Kirin to be _outraged_ , but the pleasant tone was a welcome reprieve from what he'd thought Kirin would say. “You make a big deal of selling living plants to customers,” Will said, pulling away from Kirin's touch to meet his eyes.

“Well,” Kirin said, walking out from behind the counter, facing Will. “You've been working here about a year, now. I expect you've picked up a thing or two. It's probably about time I let you work more closely with the personal aspects of my job.”

Will's breath hitched, Kirin stepping closer and leaning down, brushing his lips over Will's forehead. “But,” Kirin said, catching a hand under Will's chin and tipping his face up, their noses touching and Kirin's breath washing over him, “don't make deals with people you don't know. You can help friends with the plants, as long as you tell me about it.”

Will nodded eagerly, his movement limited by Kirin's thick fingers, and opened his mouth to agree. Kirin bent his head and slotted their lips together, swallowing Will's noises. Will tensed, just for a moment, and groaned, hands coming up to clutch at Kirin's biceps. Kirin released his face to put both hands over the small of Will's back, holding him close. Will pushed up, begging for more, and Kirin gave it easily, slipping his tongue out and running it over Will's.

He would never get used to the kisses, not when Will could feel electricity short-circuiting inside him at the heady scent of forest and moss that Kirin always carried with him. When they parted, he breathed hard, his cheeks hot and his mind reeling, digging into the rough green touch that wrapped over his ankles and pulled around his neck, Kirin's magic running strong through him.

Kirin grinned. “Let's close up for the night, shall we?”

Will blinked, and nodded, sighing as Kirin moved away. The sun, low in the sky but still hours from setting, shone through the window and lit up the shop in a golden glow, everything green now tinted bright orange, reminding Will of the neon street lights in the city after dark. He looked at Kirin's skin, the way the light reflected pale off it.

He'd seen Kirin's glamour dropped only a few times, and now, tasting Kirin on his lips and feeling his magic wound tight over his body, Will almost asked him to drop it again, just for a moment.

Then the desire passed, and Will took a deep breath, turning to close the cash register and clean up the counter.

 

* * *

 

In autumn, the city fell to a bitter cold. The leaves changed, their energy and life falling away and leaving painted patches of red and orange across the city streets. School started, and the ruckus usually caused by children running up and down the streets quieted. College students returned for the semester, the city swelled with new human life even as the green magic dimmed, and business at Kirin's shop slacked with the chill.

Will saw less of his friends, everyone tucking themselves inside. Nilesy was busy with his charms and tokens, the ritual fear of Halloween bringing a cloud of suspicious customers and tourists with disposable income, and Ross hadn't come to visit in too long, talking about Smith needing extra company this time of the year.

Sitting on his bed in mid October, staring at his ceiling, there was a familiar tapping at his window, and Will jumped. He sat up, glancing at the clock. Just past one in the morning, and right on time for Ross to drop in. He jumped off his bed and hurried to the window, leaning over his dresser to unlatch it.

Ross sat on the other side, crouched on the roof with a pack of beers in his hands. He grinned when Will opened the window, sliding inside with ease and setting the beers on the dresser.

“Hey,” Will griped, taking the pack by the cardboard handle. “You're going to stain the dresser.” He glanced around, and grabbed an old shirt from the floor, tucking it under the pack to stop the condensation from collecting on the aged wood.

Two heavy arms encircled him, and Will cried out, switching to a laugh at the feeling of Ross burying his nose into the base of his spine. “Hi,” he said, giggling as he turned around.

“Missed you, mate,” Ross said, beaming. He released Will and moved to the bed, sitting down gingerly. The frame groaned under his weight, but didn't collapse, and Ross hummed victoriously. “Toss one here, yeah?” he said, gesturing to the beer.

Will rolled his eyes and grabbed two bottles, throwing one to Ross. He'd avoided that, early on, worried that the glass bottles would shatter on his skin. But Ross caught it easily and pried the cap off, flicking it to the floor. Will offered his beer wordlessly, and Ross twisted the cap off his, too.

Sitting on the distorted mattress, his body leaning slightly toward Ross, Will took a swig of the beer. He shuddered, like he always did on the first sip. The stuff was _nasty_ , but Ross liked it, and he picked out better flavors than whatever Honeydew brought home once every couple months. “So,” Will said, tilting his bottle to watch the beer swirl inside. “How have you been?”

“Busy,” Ross complained, chugging more of the beer than most people would dare. Will wondered, not for the first time, how being made of stone affected his eating habits. “Trott's got this new stuff at the shop and Smith's whining about people not wanting to come home with him in this weather. Sips has been good, though, I think work's treating him all right.”

“Hm.” Will took another sip, this one sliding down his throat with less protest.

“What about you?” Ross turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. “I know you've been, er, occupied with Kirin.”

Laughing, Will shook his head. When autumn came, Kirin had slowed down, the way he had last year. He moved with the plants of the city, moving sluggishly and wearing thick scarves, shielding himself from harsh winds and dead leaves. Will had been watching him more; he tried to chalk it up to the change in behavior, being fascinated with how in tune Kirin was to the plants, how greatly his power radiated with them to act in sympathy.

The excuse sat heavily in his throat and made it hard to swallow. In his silence, Ross made a soft noise and put his beer bottle on the floor, drawing his feet up on the bed and curling against Will's side. He weighed with the stones of a centuries-old church, pushing on Will and nearly toppling him, but Will braced himself on the mattress, his hand falling to Ross' hair. “What do you think of him, Will? Of Kirin?”

Will inhaled sharply. Their meetings were supposed to be neutral ground; it hadn't taken long after Ross started visiting for Will to figure out that Ross still caused chaos with his court, wandering the streets and preying on the weak, and Ross had learned fast that Will wasn't able to part from Kirin. He still held a grudge against Ross' court for breaking into Kirin's store when Kirin had been trapped, and Ross didn't trust Kirin as far as his gargoyle magic could throw him.

They came from different territories of the city, entire worlds apart, and they'd agreed not to let it affect their time together. They didn't speak of the nasty deeds of the Garbage Court or the way Kirin's magic had woven its way into Will's life, nearly choking him with power that made Will hum with green life.

He sighed, rubbing his hands through Ross' hair, over his ears, and scratching lightly. Despite being made of stone, Ross' skin was soft and warm, and Will traced a thumb over his earlobe. Ross hummed appreciatively, and prodded Will's leg, goading him to answer.

Pausing to run his tongue over his teeth and pick up the lingering sour taste of beer, Will said, “I'm close to Kirin. We're friends, he's my mentor, and--well, we're physically close.” Saying it out loud brought a slow blush to Will's cheeks, but it wasn't the first time he'd mentioned it to Ross, who had balked at the idea of sex with Kirin, but had accepted it without further comment, save for a joke about Will finally ‘getting some _literal_ tail.’

Will looked down at Ross, and Ross glanced up, blue eyes shining. “Everyone keeps warning me away,” Will said. “Kirin is fae, and they take it to mean he wants to rip my throat out.”

Ross shrugged, turning to lay on his back, his head in Will's lap. “You have to measure on a case by case,” he said, lifting one hand to gesture at nothing in particular. “Trott and Smith, they're fae, pretty dangerous ones, but they've never hurt me. I don't think they _could_ if they wanted to. I wouldn't go anywhere fucking _near_ Kirin, but if you trust him,” he shrugged again, his shoulders heavy on Will's knees, “I'll respect that, mate.”

Will leaned over Ross to look down at him, and Ross grinned playfully. It was lopsided, looking sideways down at him, and Will couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. “Come on,” he said, kicking lightly at Ross' back until he sat up. Will lifted his bottle to his lips, smacking them noisily when he drew it away. “Talk about something else while I finish my beer,” he ordered, waving the bottle at Ross.

Ross brought his legs up and crossed them, the bed groaning with his weight, and took out his second bottle from the pack. “Will do, mate. How about this fucking freezing cold, eh?”

Will leaned back on his hand, the other lifting his beer for another swig.

 

* * *

 

Drinking late at night didn't bode well for the morning, and Will jerked awake a half hour later than usual, scrambling to get up and get ready for work.

He barged into the shop two minutes before it opened, and Kirin, glancing once at him, laughed and waved him toward the counter. Will slumped down gratefully, sighing as he sat on a stool and rested his arms on the counter, coat still on and leaves stuck to his shoes. His breath, trapped in the scarf around his face, puffed up and fogged his glasses. Will frowned at it and sat back up, unwinding the scarf from his neck. Kirin, now with Will to mind the shop, went to the back door and left for the greenhouses.

Will settled again once he'd taken off his outer layers, reaching out to idly flick the leaves of the small, potted fern sitting on the shop counter.

Ross' words from the night before hadn't left him. Will had bid him goodbye about an hour after he'd come, two beers in his belly and his mind buzzing with questions.

It was simple for Ross to judge his friends and their fae natures. Smith was nothing but honest about how horrible he was, and Trott didn't even wear his selkie skin. At least, Will had never heard of him wearing it, and Ross didn't talk about it, but he couldn't have it very often, living in a city rather than an ocean.

They were upfront about their natures, never letting themselves feel shame. They reveled in their powers and used them as taunts, threatening wandering people with their slimy magic and words laced with danger. Ross had made his judgements and decided that he loved them enough to join them.

Will never saw Kirin's true nature. He'd only seen parts of the glamour undone; Kirin's dark blue skin, his many eyes, even the tail that teasingly touched Will over his back and thighs, though Will could never see it coming because Kirin kept his true appearance constantly under wraps. And he'd seen all these in _parts_ , never all at once. Kirin guarded his nature like a wolf with bloodied bones in its mouth.

How could Will judge what he didn't understand?

The knob on the back door clicked, and the wood groaned as it opened. Will felt the sudden gush of chilled air, looking toward the back and catching sight of Kirin. His face was flushed, his fingers loose and relaxed, looking up to meet Will's eyes. He'd been working in the greenhouses, flushed with pride and content, and Will's heart lurched toward him.

He was raw, tuned into his work, and the glow stayed while Kirin shut the door and walked to him, with a dim smile that nonetheless outshone any lights in the shop. “William,” he purred, lifting a hand to card it through Will's hair. “You look transfixed. Something on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Will said, leaning into Kirin's touch.

“Surely it's _something_ ,” Kirin pressed, digging his fingers in slightly, enough for Will to feel his nails scratch gently on his skin.

“Just--” Will swallowed, looking up to meet Kirin's eyes. “I miss you. The _real_ you.”

Kirin blinked, smile never faltering, and his eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. “My appearance?” he guessed, his other hand moving to fall on Will's shoulder, squeezing.

“Not _that_ , it's-- I like when you show off your magic,” he blurted, and his breath hitched at the way it sounded, desperate and whining. “When you're in your element,” he clarified, grabbing Kirin's hand where it sat on his shoulder. “I like the part of you that the glamour hides.”

“Do you?” Kirin stepped closer, leaning down to nudge their foreheads together. The hand on Will's shoulder slid down, grasping his elbow, Kirin's thumb digging into the soft part where Will's arm bent. “Then,” he murmured, eyes flicking to the shop's door and back, “why don't we indulge?”

Will's eyes went wide. “What?”

Instead of answering, Kirin moved back, grabbing Will's hand and leading him out from behind the counter. Kirin released him to go to the door, flipping the 'open' sign that hung on the window to 'closed' and locking the door. Will's heart beat faster when Kirin walked back to him, stopping with a few feet between their bodies.

Kirin closed his eyes. Will dared not breathe too loud, the peach color of Kirin's skin starting to melt and warp. The sun glinted strangely off it, bending around his form as pink bled into dark blue, an odd sheen like morning dew falling over his skin. His eyes stayed close, but Will could see the seams in his face, the places where more eyes appeared, five of them that would shine in perfect blue the shade of the morning sky when Kirin looked at him again.

Behind Kirin, his tail flicked, his glamour dropped to show off the thick blue limb that tapered off into a fluffed end of pale, stringy hair, like the tail of a lion but longer, thicker, and more than capable of knocking Will over if Kirin felt so inclined. It waved like a vine and curled over Kirin's legs, restless and grasping.

Seeing it all at once had Will breathing hard, and he struggled to focus, to stay still and not grab Kirin to touch and taste, to kiss him hard and feel those not-quite-human lips on his own. It had been long, too long, since Kirin had kissed Will without his glamour.

The entire glamour took seconds to drop, and Will prepared to go to Kirin, to admire his appearance. He blinked, and stopped, his eyes going to Kirin's head, eyebrows shooting up at the new sight.

Will had heard the rumors, the tales of Kirin being more than just plants and forest. The word _animal_ was thrown around, mostly by Xephos and Honeydew, and Will had shoved the harsh words away.

He hadn't been prepared for such a literal meaning to their whispers.

On Kirin's head, in bright crystalline blue, were two pairs of horns. Ram's horns, and a pair of deer antlers, nestled in his hair and threatening to bump into the hanging baskets of plants with every turn of Kirin's head. The horns sat on the side of his temples, the antlers protruding from the front, and though they looked to weigh about ten pounds, Kirin wore them without trouble, opening all five of his eyes and grinning as he looked down at Will.

Something clicked, and Will's lips parted, barely managing to articulate his thoughts. “You _made_ it,” he said, awe and fear lancing through him. The antler ring, polished bone stained brown and encased in silver metal, had slipped easily on Will's finger and refused to come off until Kirin had removed it. Will had wondered where it came from, how someone could _buy_ something like that.

Kirin's words when Will had asked about it months ago snapped into place. Kirin hadn't _bought_ the ring. He'd crafted it from his own hand and body.

Kirin said nothing, leaning his head down. Will reached up, slow and tentative, and wrapped his fingers over the prongs of the antlers. He cradled them, running his fingers lightly over the surface. It wasn't crystal like he'd first thought, feeling like the bones he'd held in science classes as a child, but it shone like a gem, the rough surface scratching at his skin, just dull enough not to pierce. The ends of the prongs still spoke of danger, and Will stepped back, keeping his body away as he stretched his hands up to stroke over the length of the antlers.

Only a minute passed, barely enough for Will to drink in the shine of the antlers and the hard strength under his fingers. Kirin stood up, breaking Will's hold. “We shouldn't mess around for too long,” he said, and in another blink, the horns were gone, Will's fingers grasping at nothing.

He pulled his hands back, but Kirin caught them, cradling them and kissing the palms. His lips were still hard, the skin textured like the surface of leaves caught in a rainstorm, but warm enough to send shivers down Will's spine. Green magic poked at the edges of his mind, curling shyly over his ankles, pulling at the laces of his shoes, and a moment later Will felt the tangible touch of Kirin's tail, invisible again, winding around his calf and holding him in place.

Will swallowed, and he could feel the grasp of magic over his neck, growth and life and the soft touch of a flower stem, caressing the skin across his neck and lingering over the beating pulse under his jaw. Green magic filled his lungs when he breathed, and Kirin's lips, soft as petals, moved to his wrist and stayed there, his breath washing over Will's hand. Will closed his eyes and let himself fall into the green, the touch of the forest wrapping around him, and Kirin's hands cupped over his own.

 

* * *

 

The image of Kirin in all his glory, tail tucked over Will's leg, horns glinting in the morning sun, filled Will's thoughts to bursting. He shook his head more than once during his days at the shop, and he could have sworn he saw Kirin's glamour fade a few times. But when he blinked, the image vanished, leaving Will's chest hollow and his heart twinging uncomfortably.

A few weeks after Will had seen Kirin in all his glory, he was watching the shop alone again, and the bell above the door rang, jingling loudly and jerking Will from his reverie. He sat up, looking at the door, eyes going wide at the sight of Lalna.

It only took a second to recognize him as Nano's Lalna. If the duffle bag over his shoulder hadn't given it away, the clothes and expression would have. Nano's Lalna carried himself more nervously than Will's cousin, shoulders slumping and brow pinched. The stress that came with living with a faerie, probably. And his clothes weren't nearly as immaculate, scuffed and stained from his time working in his backyard with Nano's tree. He lacked the trademark goggles that Xephos and Honeydew's Lalna always had resting on top of his head, and when he met Will's eyes, he jumped with the high strung tension of a man always prepared for the worst, rather than the quiet questioning Will knew from home.

Definitely not his Lalna.

The duffle bag sagged when Lalna hefted it. Will had learned last year that, when Nano's dryad tree shed its leaves for the winter, that it was Lalna's job to collect the leaves and sell them around town, trading them for goods or money. Usually goods, because dryad leaves bought things that most people wouldn't accept cash for.

Will had seen Xephos debate which leaves to buy while Lalna shuffled on his feet. He'd only heard after the fact that he'd been to Kirin's shop, too.

“Hi,” Will said, smiling weakly.

Lalna swallowed and nodded politely, adjusting the bag on his shoulder and closing the door. “Hi,” he said, taking a quick breath. “Is Kirin here?”

“No, actually.” Will stepped away from the counter, one hand on his hip. “I can help you, though. What do you need?”

Lalna paused, biting his lip, and quickly released it. “I'm here to sell dryad leaves. Don't think you can help with that, sorry.” He shrugged, apologetic.

Will tilted his head, looking Lalna up and down, and flicked his gaze to the duffle bag. It was thin and distorted, the leaves only taking up so much room, and at the bottom, the moisture from the frostbitten, muddy leaves had leaked through. Lalna had probably been to most of his other destinations. Will wouldn't have blamed him for leaving the worst for last, and Kirin was undoubtedly the worst, the faerie who had enough magic to _summon_ a dryad like Nano, if he wanted.

Kirin's words echoed in the back of Will's mind. He could make deals with friends, if he told Kirin about it. Lalna was a friend.

Will crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his hips. “I can handle it,” he said, looking at Lalna again.

Lalna frowned, glancing at the bag and back. “You, er, you remember the leaves, right? They're kind of important . . .”

“And Kirin trusts me,” Will said, dropping his arms to step closer, a few feet between them. He waved a hand at the table next to them, a display area for their latest wares. Will had plans to show off some algae lamps whenever he heard back from the company that made them and knew whether they could accommodate the design changes he had in mind.

Right now, the table held a number of boxes, advertising easy to grow plants suitable for a house during the winter, already started in their own pots to make the job easier. “Put them here,” Will said, pushing a few of the boxes back, careful not to jostle the plants inside too harshly. “I'll pick out the best ones.”

Lalna hesitated, hand gripping tight to the bag's handle. Will narrowed his eyes slightly, ready to speak again, but Lalna finally dropped the bag to the floor, grabbing the bottom of it to tip it up and over, letting the leaves spill out of the top.

Though it had been a long time ago, Will remembered how carefully Xephos had picked his leaves, the long minutes he spent debating before he chose the best ones he could find. It was more than likely that Xephos would be grinding some of them up when Will got home after work.

He looked over the pile on the table, reaching a hand out to trace over them. At first glance, there was barely a difference in the leaves, except for the few that had more or less green than the others. The ones with the most life had probably been chosen already, taken by Lalna's first customers and traded for the best materials. Will searched, and found nothing on the surface to indicate which leaves were better, which had more potential.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the air of the shop, saturated with the smell of leaves and dirt, fill his lungs. It soaked into his body and hummed in his bones, singing the song of a life lived for sun and fruit, even in the dim skies of an autumn turning colder by the day.

Will tasted asphalt, glass, and neon light at the back of his throat, and snatched his own magic up, forcing himself to push it outward and catch the tingle of Kirin's power that radiated through the walls and curled over his wrists. Green seeped into city and wound together, a tight coil of cable wire bound with vines, and Will sent it down, through his hands and skimming across the surface of the leaves. He opened his eyes and breathed again, chlorophyll washing across his tongue, and watched neon lights dancing across the dryad leaves, burying into the veins and lighting up where the magic was strongest.

Lalna gasped quietly, but Will kept his eyes on the leaves, tracking which ones glowed the brightest, pulsing with neon and meeting the push with their own magic, mixing them. “How many?” Will asked, breaking his gaze to look at Lalna.

“Oh, uh.” Lalna scratched at the back of his neck. “A couple dozen, is about what we usually do.”

“All right.” Will turned back to the leaves, the neon already fading. He swiped his hand over them, flicking out another dollop of magic and watching the dance of light skittering through the veins. He picked up the ones that shone the most, gathering them in a small pile and counting as he went, until he had enough of the brightest leaves cornered off from the rest. “Will this do?” he asked, looking up.

Swallowing, Lalna nodded, and said, “I need to trade for them.”

“Of course.” Will pushed the other leaves back toward Lalna, and straightened his back. “What do you need?”

Lalna reached into his pocket to dig out a list, presenting it carefully. Will took it and scanned over it. The ingredients sounded similar to what Lalna usually got when he stopped by, although he was yet another customer that Kirin liked to handle himself, too important and wrapped up in magic to pass off on Will. Until now.

He folded the paper and walked across the shop, picking out herbs and a couple organic salves from the shelves.

“No extra,” Lalna added, still standing by the display table. “We don't need any gifts.”

Will paused, and nodded, continuing on his mission.

With everything gathered, Will set it on the front counter, taking out their logbook to write everything down. Lalna shuffled again while Will put everything in a bag, and Will kept hold of it until he'd scooped the leaves into another bag, setting them on the windowsill behind the counter for Kirin to look at later. “Here,” he said, and handed Lalna his goods.

Lalna opened it carefully and peered inside, his lips moving as he counted under his breath. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finished. “Thanks,” he said, smiling tentatively. “This is exactly what we need.”

“I wouldn't have given you any more if you didn't want it,” Will said, returning the smile. Kirin hadn't told him the details of his trade with Lalna the year before, only that it was a long few months before Lalna had come by the shop again, and that he'd left a rather generous tip when he finally showed up.

Will could hazard a guess as to what had happened.

Lalna scurried out, pushing what was left of the leaves into his duffle and leaving the shop with his hand clutched tight around his bag of goods. Will settled behind the counter, pulling out a magazine and flicking to an article about plans to build a 'garden city' in Berlin with skyscrapers. It was a few years off, but the conceptual architecture looked nice. 

A few hours later, between a few customers and finishing the magazine, the door opened, and Will looked up, heart stuttering when he saw Kirin. He was ruffled from head to toe, hair disheveled and clothes rumpled, and for a moment, Will thought he saw his antlers flicker into sight. They were gone in another blink, and Will stood from the counter, ready to greet him.

Kirin paused at the door, brow furrowed. He turned to Will, but his usual friendly smile was absent, his lips pursed instead. He turned away to scan his eyes over the shop's interior. “Something happened while I was gone,” he said, and looked at Will again. “What did you do, William?”

There was no anger there, only polite curiosity, and Will forced himself to breathe as he grabbed the bag from the windowsill, marching around the counter and thrusting it at him.

“Lalna came by,” Will explained, as Kirin took the bag. “Nano's Lalna, with the dryad leaves. He was looking to sell them, so I chose the best ones and made a quick deal with him.”

Kirin's furrow deepened, and he opened the bag to peer inside. Will kept his hands to his side, fidgeting with the seams on his jeans. Kirin reached inside the bag and pulled out a few leaves, holding them up to the light of the shop's lanterns. Kirin could easily yell at Will, scolding him for making a deal without his permission. It was one thing to sell Nilesy an extra plant and help customers when Kirin wasn't around. Trading supplies for magic was another matter.

His face smoothing out, the cautious frown fading, Kirin dropped the leaves back and closed the bag. He set it carefully on the counter, watching Will for a split second, and burst into a grin.

“ _Will_ ,” he said, and reached out, scooping his arm around Will's shoulders and dragging him in. Will yelped, and relaxed, the scent of moss and the forest after a fresh rain surrounding him, settling comfortably over his body like a warm blanket.

“You did well,” Kirin said, one hand combing through Will's hair, the other wrapped around his torso and holding him close. “I'm proud of you.”

Will's heart swelled, and he buried his face in Kirin's chest, drinking in the praise. The buttons of Kirin's overalls dug into his skin, and his nails scratched at Will's scalp, but he didn't dare move, his hands grabbing the sides of Kirin's shirt and holding tight. Kirin cooed another compliment and Will flushed red, his face burning. He'd made a deal for Kirin; he'd done _well_.

“I think,” Kirin said slowly, pushing Will until he reluctantly let go, to look him in the eye, “that you have come a long way in being my apprentice. It is time to take the next step.”

Will's heart nearly burst from his chest. He tensed, and swallowed. “Next step?”

“Don't worry about it now.” Kirin leaned in and pressed a hard kiss to Will's forehead, his lips warm and sending shivers down Will's spine. “It's been a good day for us both. Why don't we close up for the night?”

Nodding, Will stepped back, and Kirin moved to the back door to go to his greenhouses. Will blinked slowly, watching the shop door close, and took a deep breath.

The next step. Will had no idea what that meant; he'd already started learning green magic, something that, a year ago, he wouldn't have thought possible. Kirin filled his body and mind and led Will through spells and rituals, guiding him with a steady hand and a soft voice. Will had seen him without his glamour and knew that Kirin was the sidhe lord, the faerie in charge of providing for and protecting the city. There couldn't be much else to learn.

When Kirin came back inside, he smiled at Will again, and took his hand to kiss the knuckles. Will leaned into his touch, physically and mentally, enjoying the warmth of Kirin's skin and the brush of his magic over his cheeks, down his neck. Whatever Kirin had planned for him next, Will trusted him. That was enough.

 

* * *

 

November bit into the city harshly, sinking its teeth into the walls with biting winds and temperatures cold enough to freeze, but not enough to bring the icy beauty of snow that made winter worth the trouble.

On a rainy day, shivering from the water seeping down his neck and into his shoes, Will fumbled to open the shop door with frozen fingers. The gloves Honeydew had given him, thick as they were, didn't stop the wind from slipping between their woolen threads and numbing his skin. Will struggled not to let his teeth chatter, opening the door and slipping inside with a sigh of relief.

Indoor heating was one of the few modern luxuries that Kirin allowed for the shop. He used oil lamps and a cash register at least a century old, but he could afford to compromise for warmth. It kept the greenhouses flourishing and made the shop into a haven in the winter, inviting people inside to warm their icy hands and faces, keeping them there while Kirin tempted them to make a purchase for the kind shop owner who would let people take shelter from the cold.

Will paused to let the heat sink in, shivering again. The chill faded, slowly but surely, and the painful bite in his ears sent a pounding headache behind his temples as it fought with the sudden heat. Will unwound his scarf, and looked up.

Kirin stood near the front, watching him. Their eyes met, and Kirin smiled briefly, going to the door and flipping the lock. Will's brow furrowed, and he stepped away. “Kirin?”

“I have something to talk about,” Kirin said, eyes narrowed slightly in consideration. “Today is a special day.”

Will frowned and tilted his head, thinking of the calendar on his phone. “It's not a holiday,” he said, lips pursing. “I didn't forget your birthday, did I?”

Kirin laughed, reaching up to touch Will's hair. “No. I don't believe I ever told you when it is.”

The touch sent a shiver of an entirely different kind down Will's spine, and he blushed. The question of whether Kirin actually _had_ a birthday had come up more than once in his mind. “So what, then?” he asked, hands tucked in front of himself, rubbing together to warm up faster. It had to be significant, if Kirin had locked the shop as soon as he came in. Kirin rarely stopped business.

Brushing over Will's hair one last time, Kirin went to the front counter and bent down, grabbing something from the shelves underneath. He stood and held it up; a leather pouch, only a foot long and barely big enough to hold more than a few books, or maybe a potted plant. Something inside banged with a hollow _clack_ when Kirin moved it, lowering the bag to his side and walking back to Will.

“These,” Kirin said, lifting the bag again for Will to look at closely, “are antler pieces. From my own flesh.”

Will's eyes went wide, and he jerked his gaze to Kirin, lips parted but no sound escaping. The antlers, in all their glory, had been magnificent, a symbol of all that Kirin _was_. He was the forest and the trees, the plants in the underbrush, the animals that ran across the logs and over the rivers, the life of the natural world, plucked from his habitat and stuck in a flourishing center in the middle of a city.

“You broke them?” Will managed, his voice sticking in his throat.

Kirin laughed, shaking his head, and pushed the bag into Will's hands. Will took it with trembling fingers, feeling the long stems and sharp points of antler pieces inside the thick, brown leather. “No,” Kirin said. “They shed yearly, like deer's antlers. That was how I made your ring. And this year, I kept them, broke them into smaller sections.” He put a hand out, rubbing over Will's shoulder. “Come, I have something to tell you.”

Will swallowed and nodded, letting Kirin guide him to the back of the shop, where Kirin had pulled out two wicker chairs and sat them in front of a shelf full of fertilizers and ugly garden decorations shaped like toads and squirrels. Kirin sat him down in one, and took the other chair, his hands resting in his lap. Will gripped the pouch tighter, careful not to let the fabric pull too harshly on the antler points.

“I have not told you much of the fae traditions,” Kirin said, leaning forward. Will fought the temptation to shrink back, confusion and anticipation warring inside him, hands pressed around the antlers.

“No,” Will agreed, swallowing and meeting Kirin's eyes. “You haven't.”

Kirin smiled again and reached out, taking one of Will's hands and cupping it in his own. Will's fingers were dwarfed under Kirin's, slim and short compared to the thickness of his. He held Will tightly and rubbed his thumb over the back of Will's palm. “I'll tell you now,” Kirin said. “It's a tale passed down many generations, and it's one of the oldest traditions.”

Will's shoulders stiffened, and he forced himself to breathe, to relax. He nodded, and breathed again, slowly. Kirin watched him a moment, and only when Will was breathing regularly again, did he start to speak.

“Fae exist to use our magic,” he said, squeezing Will's hand. “We go where the magic goes, and though I am one of plants and wilderness, the magic that lies there is old, slow. I went to where the magic has grown and hums with energy, with the life of thousands packed into a small area. This city inhales life and exhales magic, Will. You know that better than anyone.”

He did, and Will's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. “You taught me that.”

Kirin chuckled. “I suppose I did. But what you must know, Will, is that I am not merely a fae. I am a sidhe lord, a protector. I have to watch this city because I am one of the few who can shield it from harm.

“For fae, protecting what belongs to us is a matter of life and death. If the city is harmed, so am I, and if I come to harm, the city will cry. You know this, also.”

The night that Kirin had been locked away from the city, when it had bitten into Will's mind with sharp teeth and razor claws, came all too vividly to memory. Will shifted in his chair.

“So,” Kirin said, eyes tracing over Will, “I want a way to watch this city.”

The weight of the antlers increased in Will's lap, Kirin's words falling into place. “These?” Will said, running his hand over the pouch.

“Indeed.” Kirin tucked his other hand over Will's hip, drawing them closer. Will rested his toes on the floor and squirmed on the edge of his seat, the pouch threatening to fall off his lap. “Will,” Kirin said, quiet, reverent. “I have an important task for you.

“I need to look over the city, and I can't do that on my own. I have built debts and connections to all the people, have sold them my wares and woven my touch over many lives. But it isn't enough.

“Fae have a tradition, something sacred. You must take these antlers and plant them, like saplings, so that they may grow and provide life, claim territory.” His voice deepened, and Kirin moved to hover over Will's ear, speaking even quieter. “You have to take the antlers, these pieces of me, and spread them through the city.”

Will clutched the bag, shaking. His shoulders had come up around his ears and he fought for every breath, Kirin's words crashing down around him. This was more than minding the shop, more than giving life to plants, more than dipping into Kirin's magic and pulling it around himself like a worn blanket. This was _magic_ , the purest kind, Kirin's own touch imbued in a physical form.

Planting antlers like trees, putting pieces of Kirin in the city.

Will closed his eyes; dropping down to Kirin's magic was like instinct, sinking into the clean embrace and feeling it wrap around him, over his ankles and wrists and tugging at his neck, an anchor rather than a restraint. Will swallowed, nearly choking, and the green touch fell on him, over his hair and shoulders and curling down his body, tucked around his skin and brushing over his lips. It beat with a pulse of water and leaves, stringing itself around Will's heart, and his hands clenched tighter over the pouch, desperate to hold on.

Kirin laughed, soft in Will's ear, and his body vanished from beside him. Will opened his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, but Kirin was there again, standing over him, his hands on Will's shoulders. He bent low, stooping over Will shivering in his chair, and pressed his face to Will's hair. He inhaled softly and blew out gentle breaths, that would have tickled Will if he weren't tasting morning dew in his throat and shaking as the cracking pressure of thousand-year-old trees wrapped around his mind.

Squeezing his hands on Will's shoulders, Kirin moved down to kiss his forehead. Will whined, leaning into his touch, and Kirin's hands slid down to grasp his biceps. Kirin hummed a quiet noise, and Will swallowed, forcing himself to breath slower, to slow the shakes of his body. Warmth and fire lit in his chest, and electric sparks licked around his feet, curling over the vines that held him. Will clenched his fingers around the pouch, seeking out the rumble of trains, the beating rhythm of boots in wet leaves, the frozen ponds in the parks and the wash of water in the pipes, the cold, morning song of the city.

It pulled him from the overwhelming imprint of green behind his eyes, and Will relaxed, feeling Kirin kiss over his hairline, the tendrils of his magic brushing down Will's neck. It mixed with the fiery tingle of the city, and Will could swear he smelled moss and oil all at once, taking a deep breath. “Okay,” he managed, breaking from Kirin's lips soothing over his hair, to meet his eye. “I can do it,” Will said, trying not to swallow around the words.

Kirin hummed, eyes crinkling with mirth, and his hands came up to cup Will's cheeks. Will barely had time to prepare before Kirin pulled him in, slotting their mouths together. Will nearly dropped the pouch, squeaking his surprise into Kirin's mouth, tightening his hold at the last second. Heaven forbid he broke the antlers _now_.

Leaves burst in the edges of Will's consciousness, and the roar of the city deafened for one moment as his entire world turned to _Kirin_ , fading as Will felt the familiar softness of Kirin's lips, how his fingers cradled his face like Will was a newly flowering plant. He sighed and pushed up, seeking more. Kirin kissed him again, and drew back, sliding a hand down Will's neck and resting at his collarbone. “You've been given a great task, Will,” he said, smiling, thumbing over Will's cheek with the other hand. “Something no human would dream of doing.”

Will flushed with pride, heart beating faster, and he shoved off the chair, grabbing Kirin's shirt with one hand, the other tight around the pouch of antler pieces, kissing Kirin again. There was a soft laugh that could have come from either of them, or maybe both, but Will was too lost to care.

* * *

 

A light dusting of snow caught Will on his way home, melting before it hit the ground. He held tight to his backpack, careful not to jostle it and break the antlers he'd stowed inside. Darkness, coming early in the late days of the year, had set in long before Will had left the shop, and the city slept through his walk home from the bus stop.

The front light was on when Will stopped in front of his house. He could see a figure behind the glass in the front door, and he tensed. Sighing, he hefted his backpack, and trudged through wet leaves and mud to the porch.

Xephos stood inside, arms crossed, brow furrowed. “You're late,” he said.

Will took off his bag and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it in the hall closet and kicking off his boots. “Late night at the shop,” he said, unzipping his sweater, but leaving it on to fight the lingering shivers from the chill of the night.

Xephos' eyes narrowed. “What were you doing that it took you an extra hour to get home?”

Bristling, Will turned to Xephos, lips pressed in a thin line. In truth, Kirin had asked Will to stay with him at the end of the day. He'd opened the shop when they finished talking about the antlers, and the work day had been fairly normal. At closing, though, Kirin had sat him down and given Will precise instructions about what to do with the antler pieces.

If Will told Xephos any of that, he'd never be allowed out of the house again.

“The customers were lingering,” Will said, trying to walk past. “Clean up took longer because this group of older women wouldn't leave.”

A hand caught Will's shoulder before he could make it to the stairs. Xephos' nostrils flared, lips twisted unpleasantly. “Will,” he said, in the tone that Will hated, the one that made him out to be about three years old. “I don't like you spending extra time with Kirin. Tell him you'll be on your way when your shift ends. You don't have to stay and help.”

Will resisted the urge to jerk away. “I _wanted_ to stay,” he said, and pulled back gently, hurrying away from Xephos and up the stairs, his backpack slung loosely on his shoulder.

He pulled the attic stairs up and locked the entrance, anticipating the sounds of footsteps and Xephos' high pitched voice chiding Will for his behavior. He heard nothing, and turned, sitting in front of his dresser.

The antler pieces couldn't be planted until the winter, Kirin had said. He'd given them to Will to prepare him for the role. Will unzipped his backpack and pulled out the leather pouch, feeling the edges again. He wanted to look inside, to see how Kirin had broken the antlers apart, if they'd changed after being shed from his being. Instead, Will opened the middle drawer of his dresser, pushing pants and boxer shorts out of the way, and tucked the pouch at the back. If there was one thing Will had learned growing up, it was that everything was best hidden in the underwear drawer; no one cared to look there.

Xephos thought he was clever, talking to Will about his new interest in gardening and how many new books and articles he'd picked up. The antlers wouldn't suffer the same fate of his snooping.

Downstairs, Xephos had vacated the front hall, and Will found him when he poked his head in the living room. Xephos was curled up on the couch with Honeydew, leaning into his shoulder, Honeydew's hand curled over his side.

They both looked up, Xephos pouting and Honeydew's expression carefully neutral. “Welcome home, Will,” he said. “Took you a bit longer to get here.”

Will shrugged, walking past them. “Long day at work. I'm making tea, do you want any?”

“None for me,” Honeydew said, and Xephos grunted, which Will took for a no.

Tea solved most of the world's problems, or at least made them seem smaller, and waiting for the water to boil on the electric kettle gave Will something else to think about. The house creaked in the way that old houses always made noise, and he couldn't hear Xephos or Honeydew talking like he might have expected. Will watched the kettle, fingers tapping on the counter.

Outside, leaves collected on the windowsill, and the beginnings of a frost licked at the edges of the glass.


	3. Chapter 3

When Will had first come to the city, he'd been plagued by dreams of being eaten alive, of iron pipes and boiling asphalt dragging him into the depths of the city's bowels, silencing his magic forever. Those dreams had faded over time, morphing into visions of sunlight and green leaves, of the city bathed in flora and its people dressed in coats of twisting vines. Fire and metal bent under his fingers and branches tangled around his feet.

They were only dreams, of course, and Will dismissed them the moment he woke up. The change in pace was comforting though, if only because the nightmares had kept him up nearly every night for two months. His parents hadn't had any idea what they’d done, sending him to a city.

On an early December morning, Will woke up, no work scheduled and nothing to do with the family. He vaguely remembered another vision of green, and shook it away.

He needed to clear his head.

Will went downstairs and grabbed a quick breakfast. The house was asleep; he'd woken hours earlier than usual. When he’d finished his food, he grabbed his boots from the closet, pulling them on with a sweater and a thick coat, and wrapped a scarf around his face. Lacey patterns of ice jutted from the corners of the front door's window, a thin layer of snow sticking to the porch and the sidewalk beyond. Will braced himself for the cold and trudged outside.

He'd liked morning walks in the countryside. It was guaranteed to be quiet, only the farmers on their tractors out before seven AM. In the city, everything moved at all hours, but it still kept a vaguely human schedule. Most people were asleep by two in the morning and woke at six to go to work. Between then, the city breathed with the lazy snore of a life tucked under a soft blanket and sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, from the beggars that held their cups out to the animals that rooted through the trash, the creatures that couldn't afford to sleep in for fear of missing a meal or some spare change.

Will shoved his hands into his pockets and walked in the opposite direction of his usual morning route to the bus stop. His path took him by neighbor's houses and small shops, a tiny area just like every other residential neighborhood around the city, full of people who would never admit that they loved living in a city, but would still rather be tucked against a busy street than stranded in the open expanse of the country.

His breath blew out in puffs of visible air when Will exhaled the sharp sting of the morning's chill. He had been here for over a year, and though his memories of home were bright, he wasn't sure if he could remember who he'd been before coming to the city.

He'd come as a technomancer, a boy who grew up in a modern house planted in an old place, with parents who dealt in country magic and knowledge of fae that lived in dying logs. They hadn't known what to do when Will had burst a circuit in the television or heard thousands of voices on the radio. The closest they had to a modern magician was Xephos, and they'd carted Will off to him the moment it made financial sense to do so.

Will had been so used to throwing himself outside every time his magic got to be too much, that taking the option away had done more damage than he'd thought. The city had sunk its teeth into him too fast and too hard, and Will had writhed against it, begging to be released from the voices over the telephones, the zing of communications over every internet router in every home, the roar of the trains and buses, and the scratching of the animals that made their homes inside concrete instead of the forest.

The woods at home had been a way to muffle it all, and at first, Kirin's shop had done the same, but over time Will hadn’t needed Kirin to muffle the city so much, and the green magic grew softer around the edges, less of a shield and more of a tool.

Looking up at the bushes planted around the houses and the trees sleeping their way through winter, Will could feel their magic, dormant though it was, just under the bark and stems. It churned with an exhausted thrum, tired from the cold and the lack of sun but still there. Brushing his fingers through Kirin's magic and coiling it around the plants he saw made Will smile. He'd never imagined wanting to be _part_ of the green instead of using it as a poor man's defense.

He could call the green to him and channel it through the city's song, feeling roots under concrete and branches stretching over roofs, and Will could _breathe_. He nearly stopped where he was, to let the plants and metal take him all at once, to sit on the sidewalk and have the city wrap around him, choking him on vines and glass as electric fire buzzed over his lips and into his ribs.

But Will shook his head and coughed, loosening the bits of magic stuck in throat. The noise broke the silence of the early morning, the magic retreating, his primary senses coming back to him. He glanced around, recognizing the street he'd wandered to, and sighed. The clouds obscured the sun, but the sky was brighter than when he'd left. Will turned around, catching sight of his own footprints covered in a thin layer of fresh snow, and followed them back the way he'd come.

Lalna was awake and working in the living room. Will shut the front door and undressed from his walk, giving Lalna a wave through the doorway. Lalna didn't even flinch, too absorbed in the papers spread over his lap.

Will went upstairs, climbing the attic stairs slowly, and closed them behind him. Honeydew and Xephos would be waking soon, and Honeydew would probably say something about preparing for the holidays. Ross had spoken about trying to cook with them again soon, and they needed to put up the plastic tree-- currently stored in the upstairs closet-- and start decorating.

It could all wait.

Kneeling in front of his dresser, Will opened the middle drawer and dug through his clothes, pulling out the leather pouch. He hadn't looked at it since Kirin gave it to him, worried Xephos would sense some trace of extra magic on him. Will always burned with Kirin's touch when he got home from the shop, but if Xephos smelled it in his own house, he wouldn't stop until he found the source.

Kirin had told Will to plant them on solstice night, after sundown. If Will left on solstice without telling him why, Xephos would suspect something. Solstice was the playtime of the fae, the night they crawled out from their hiding places and reveled in a night of darkness, pushing the light that shielded fragile human minds away for the longest night of the year.

Holding the pouch in one hand, Will reached in his pocket and dug out his phone. Nilesy was the third speed dial, and he settled on the floor, antlers in his lap, phone held up to his ear. He quickly wove a spell around the phone, a bubble of soft magic, to keep their conversation private.

Nilesy picked up on the third ring. “H-Hello? Will?”

“Hey, Nilesy,” Will said, his hand tight on the leather, feeling the sharp points of the antler pieces through the material. “How are you?”

“Fine, um. You don't usually call.”

Will's fingers flexed around the phone. Nilesy had given him his number last year, after the antler ring incident. Nilesy had been convinced Will would get himself into trouble again, and pushed a paper with his number on it into Will's hands, just in case. He'd told Will to call if he ever needed help, even though Nilesy was probably the least capable when it came to the fae.

“I know,” Will said, in what he hoped would pass convincingly for innocence. “I had a question. Nothing serious, I promise.”

A quiet sigh from the other end of the phone, and then, “What kind of question?”

“Well, we haven't seen each other in a while,” Will said, rubbing a thumb over the leather pouch. “And I thought we could do something outside the shop. Like, tea or something.”

Nilesy's voice perked up. “Tea? That sounds lovely!”

“Great!” Will said, quick to snatch at the approval. “Maybe we could meet at your place? I feel cooped up in here lately. It's hard to live with three other people.”

“Yeah, no, sure!” Nilesy babbled, excitement peaking. “That sounds great, I know Lom sometimes wishes we had more company, living a bit aways from you guys. Tea, sure, that sounds great!”

“Awesome.” Will smiled, and let it fall, the expression useless over the phone. “How does two weeks from now sound? I've got a lot on my plate until then, but next Monday should be good for me.”

“Two weeks? Monday?”

“The twenty first,” Will clarified, nearly biting his lip.

“Oh! The twenty first, sure.” There was a sound like scrabbling paper, and scratching. “Okay, I got it. Twenty first, tea . . . what time?”

“Five,” Will said, glancing up, outside the attic window. It would be dark by then.

In the background, Will heard someone shouting, a high pitched yell that sounded an awful lot like protesting, and then, Nilesy's voice, further away than it'd been, “Lomadia, what-- no, it's fine, I'm making plans-- Will! For tea, you paranoid woman, get-- get away from the phone! My god,” he panted, his tone clear again. “Sorry, Lomadia's a bit on edge. Anyway. Five o'clock, the twenty first?”

“Perfect,” Will said. “I'll see you then, Nilesy. Like I said, I'm really swamped, so I'll talk to you again soon, all right? Maybe stop by the shop again.”

“Ah, sure.” Nilesy paused, a half second, and then, “Bye, Will.”

“Bye.” Will took the phone off his ear and pressed the end call button, heart beating quickly, and he waited a full minute before putting the phone down on the floor. He'd planned to make the call, knowing he would need an excuse, but it still made his throat tighten, thinking of how simple it was to ask Nilesy for favors, to weave excuses around him. If he didn't have Lomadia to watch him, Nilesy would have been fae food by now, too trusting and never knowing it when a trick was coming his way. At least Will's intentions weren't malicious.

The platitude provided little comfort, and Will blinked, his eyes sliding from his phone to the leather pouch still in his lap. His fingers twitched, and he swallowed, grabbing the edges of the bag with both hands and pulling them apart.

The drawstring top gave easily. Will hadn't dared look inside, too scared of what he might find after seeing Kirin's antlers for himself. Will tilted the bag the let the light in, and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight.

A pile of smooth, pointed pieces of bone sat at the bottom of the bag. They were white, with traces of blue streaking between the small, textured grooves on their surface. Kirin's antlers had been shining blue and crystalline, sparkling under the light. The antler pieces themselves, meanwhile, were dull, the white faded and the blue pale in comparison to their living form.

The ring that Kirin had given Will had been speckled brown to look like stone, crafted to imitate the finest jewelry. These hid nothing about their true nature, each shard a long stem that ended in a sharp point. Will put a tentative hand in the bag and brushed his fingers over one, the grooves scraping along his skin.

The antlers clacked when he jostled them, thick but light. Will pulled his hand back and yanked the drawstring closed, taking a deep breath. Kirin had trusted him to take these, to plant them around the city. Will couldn’t have imagined such a task being given to him, let alone being in charge of executing the entire thing himself.

Taking the pouch, Will stood and went to his bed, sitting on the mattress. He put a hand over the bag and let the antler points press gently into his palm through the fabric, closing his eyes. On Kirin, the antlers had shone with magic, their power flowing over the prongs and sweeping through Kirin's hair.

Broken, their magic was a low hum, something soft with jagged edges that waited for something bigger, a better fate. And it was Will's job to give it to them.

 

* * *

 

The leather pouch stayed hidden in Will's dresser until solstice night, when he took it out and tucked it at the bottom of his backpack. It was half past four and the sun had already started drifting toward the horizon line. By the time Will finished his visit, it would be well past sunset.

He went downstairs, a thick sweater tucked around his torso and woolen socks pulled up to his calves. He paused at the living room doorway, peeking in. No one was there, and he could hear noises in the kitchen, voices speaking low out of a quiet enjoyment of the evening rather than necessity. The house had been warded for the night, Xephos ready to face any fae with the wrong ideas, and the silence of protection rang through the walls.

“Xephos!” Will called, turning to get his coat from the front hall closet. “I'm going to Nilesy's now! I'll be back soon!” He slipped his bag off his shoulder to pull on a coat, scarf, and hat.

Footsteps, and Xephos' head poked through the living room doorway. “Nilesy's, right, I almost forgot,” he said, hurrying to catch Will before he left. He kicked a pair of boots toward him and moved around Will, yanking his hat down farther and checking the buttons on his coat. “Be _careful_ tonight, don't stay out too late.” He paused, lips twisted in a frown as Will bent down to tie his boots. “Do you have to go out tonight, of all nights?”

“Nilesy wanted to see me,” Will said, “and tonight is the only weeknight I have off that he doesn't have to work.”

“You could have done a Christmas visit!” Xephos said, brow furrowing deeper, his hands in tight fists at his side.

“No,” Will said carefully, standing and hoisting his bag back up, “you would have said we needed family time. I'll be fine, okay? I know what not to do on solstice.”

Xephos glanced between Will and the door. “Don't go to Kirin.”

Will rolled his eyes. “I'll stay far away. It's just tea, Xephos, and I'll be home later tonight.”

With a quiet sigh, Xephos clapped Will on the shoulder, meeting his eyes. “All right,” he said, fingers tight around Will. “Call me if anything goes wrong.”

“Of course.” Will nodded, and Xephos pulled him into a hug. Hesitating, Will slowly wrapped his arms around Xephos, keeping his eyes on the wall behind them until Xephos let him go. “See you,” he said, waving and going to the front door.

“Careful,” Xephos reminded him.

Will resisted the urge to groan, shutting the door behind him.

The lights inside the house lit up the front yard and the sidewalk. Will tucked his face into his scarf and let his eyes drift over the light, how it faded the farther he walked from the house, until the street lamps caught him, and he couldn't tell the light from his house apart from the light shining on the rest of the street.

Cars rumbled down the road and lights flickered in the windows, people going home for the evening and hurrying to tuck themselves inside, to hide from the fae without putting their lives at a complete standstill. The people of the city had gone to work and school and spent their lives as they usually would, but the sun was setting and the call of the wild fae grew stronger with each ray of sunlight that left. Doors locked and curtains closed, entire households cutting themselves off from the world for just this night, to keep away the forces that would dance to the tune of flutes carried on the winds and whisper sweet nothings in their ears.

Will looked up from the sidewalk, and he could see it. The edges of the city wavered, flickering like candlelight with the doubt of all its citizens. Underneath the surface, just far enough to be irritating but not detrimental, Will could feel the scratch, the niggling worry of every human, combined together at once, barring doors and hanging charms in the windows. If the fae took any human lives tonight, it wouldn't be without a fight, and the strength of that fear rose up under the city, sparking through the wires and cracking its concrete walls.

The bus came on schedule, public transport never failing even on this night. Will blew hot breath against his hands to let it curl around his face, and when that didn't work, he stole an orb of light from the bulbs in the roof of the bus, the light over his head going a few shades dimmer as Will held a glowing sphere in his palm and spread the heat over his fingers.

The walk to Nilesy's from the bus stop wasn't long enough to freeze, and when the front door opened, Will gave him a genuine smile.

Nilesy beamed, tucked into a sweater with cartoon cats knitted on the front, his glasses slightly askew and his hair a matted mess. “Will!” he said, stepping aside and urging him in. “I'm so glad you could make it, I've got the tea all ready for us and everything, just have a seat wherever you like.” He pushed Will inside, shutting the door and sliding several locks in place behind them.

Will hadn't been to Nilesy and Lomadia's since the year before, but he recognized the layout. He shed his coat and boots, keeping his backpack, and turned into what he hoped was the door to the living room. He was right, and Will took a seat on the long couch, setting his backpack at his feet. The coffee table in the center of the room had been laid out with a tea set made of white porcelain, holly images dancing around the rims of the cups and the teapot.

“This seemed appropriate,” Nilesy said, taking the seat next to Will. “Lom's got cookies in the oven, offered to make them after she heard you were coming. Chocolate chip and sugar cookies, it's going to be good!” Nilesy took a moment to sigh, thinking of the near future filled with sugar, and snapped out of it with a quick shake of his head. “The tea, though,” he said, chuckling nervously.

Will lay back against the couch, the worn fabric scratching against his clothes. “I'm glad to see you, Nilesy. It's been too long.”

Nilesy jolted and blushed, his hand hovering over the handle of the teapot. “Me too!” he said, shooting another winning smile at Will that was only slightly dampened by the red tint to his cheeks. “I didn't realize you'd asked to come out on solstice,” he said, taking the pot and pouring tea into two of the three cups on the table, “until Lomadia told me. Not the greatest night to have company over. I--” Nilesy swallowed, peeking at Will. “I thought you would be with Kirin, tonight.” He said the name like a curse, wary of its power.

“I work a lot,” Will said, leaning forward to take the cup Nilesy offered. “I see him often enough. Today's one of my few days off.”

“Oh! Ah, cream, sugar?” Nilesy asked, and looked at the table. “Oh dear, I forgot the sugar, hang on.” He stood, careful not to bump into the table, and hurried past Will to the kitchen. Will laughed quietly, holding his cup close.

It might be considered taking advantage, to get out of the house under the excuse of visiting Nilesy. But Nilesy seemed pleased, and Will _did_ enjoy seeing him, no matter the reason, and the visit wouldn't take the whole night. He sat up when Nilesy came back clutching a bowl a sugar cubes, setting it on the table and sliding it towards Will.

Taking two and using the spoon on the side of his saucer to stir, Will said, “You seem jumpy.”

Nilesy shifted on the couch, shrugging and tapping his feet on the hardwood floor. “It's solstice,” he said, waving his hand vaguely. “Everyone's on edge.”

“You're damn right about that.”

Will startled, and turned to see Lomadia in the doorway, arms crossed, brow furrowed. “Did you lock the doors?” she asked, stomping her way inside with the power of a woman who would not take any shit tonight.

“Of course I did,” Nilesy said, snorting. “I'm not a _complete_ fool, Lom.”

Lomadia rolled her eyes, walking past them, and paused. She jerked her head back, looking at them both, and her eyes scanned their bodies, the couch they sat on, looking for something.

Will tensed and spread his legs a bit farther, covering the backpack he'd placed at his feet. “Is something wrong?” he said, putting his teacup down on his saucer with a sharp _clink_.

The noise jolted Lomadia from her thoughts, and she met Will's eyes. She blinked, long and slow, and shook her head. “No, nothing is . . . wrong,” she said, rolling the word over her tongue for a moment.

Will and Nilesy stared.

Lomadia took a breath and squared her shoulders. “I've got work to do,” she said, and turned, walking with heavy footsteps to the doorway across the room, the sound of her boots thumping hard even when they couldn't see her anymore.

Reaching down, Will felt over his backpack and caught a whiff of the sharp magic of the antlers, what Lomadia had sensed without being able to pinpoint it. Nilesy made charms and tokens; his magic was rooted in material things, objects he could touch and understand, and he was so new to it all, he wouldn't know a dryad from an everyday oak tree if the dryad deigned to speak to him.

Lomadia had been practicing for-- according to Xephos-- years. She'd been fluent in magic when Xephos first moved to the city, and though Xephos was easily one of the most skilled witches in the city, Lomadia wasn't far behind, trading in spells and incantations, traditions as old as humans themselves that she wove into her daily life.

Her strong demeanor and sharp tongue helped the magic along quite a bit.

Will hadn't thought to hide the antlers, and pressed his fingers over the bag, dragging out a pool of magic and letting it drip over his fingers, onto the cloth, to seep inside. A thousand unnoticed cashiers, bikes left chained and forgotten, items lost in the shuffle of office work and windows left open without regards to rainy forecasts, the inconsequentials that everyone in the city forgot, cascading over the backpack to shield the antlers from view.

“Will?” Nilesy asked, bending over to look at what he was doing.

Straightening, Will took his cup and drank a long, hot swig, ignoring the burn in his throat. “Sorry,” he said, “thought I might have kicked my bag. What were we talking about?”

“Oh, uh.” Nilesy shrugged, playing with his teacup. “I was saying, Lom gets uptight this time of year. The holidays, plus the solstice and her always trying to protect me from fae, it gets her all wound up and then she doesn't act like herself. Well, she _does_ , but she's not relaxed.”

“There's no _time_ to be relaxed, Nilesy.”

Both men turned to see Lomadia back in the door, a piece of green between her fingers. She reached up, standing on her toes to fasten a red string to the door frame with a few pieces of tape, mistletoe dangling from the end of the string. She shot a brief glare at Nilesy, eyes flicking between him and her work. “Fae take advantage of anyone without the sense to watch their backs as well as their fronts, and I'm not having you kidnapped because someone promised you a candy cane.”

“Lomadia!” Nilesy cried in fake shock, putting a hand to his chest. “You _wound_ me!”

Rolling her eyes, Lomadia stood back on her feet, tilting her head to look at the mistletoe from another angle, hands on her hips. She wore thick gloves along with the tan boots that went up to her calves, and Will frowned. She looked ready to go out into a blizzard at a moment's notice.

Nilesy relaxed from his melodramatic statement, leaning against Will to look past him. “Are you hoping someone passes under that for you, Lom?” he asked, giggling.

Lomadia cut her eyes to him, nostrils flared. “I'm hoping that a plant revered for its life-giving and protective properties will ward off any fae with funny ideas.”

The giggle faded halfway out of Nilesy's throat, and Lomadia walked back through the living room, reaching out to pat Nilesy's head as she passed, and went down the other hallway. A second later, Will heard her boots clomping up the stairs.

“She's nervous,” Nilesy said, laughing again. “After last year--” He stopped, and looked at Will, his eyes wide.

Will turned away. They hadn't spoken of last year. Will had suffered the attacks of the city, the screeching metal and jabbing stone teeth digging into his mind, as the city protested the absence of its anchor, the forest fae whose magic had permeated the grounds and settled over the buildings like fine pollen. Kirin had been trapped, and Will had taken the brunt of the city's complaints.

He'd been taken to Lomadia and Nilesy's to hide while Xephos dealt with the sidhe lord trapped in their living room, but the city had reached him anyway. Will had accidentally smashed a teacup in his agony and cut his hand trying to clean it up, and it was mutually agreed that none of them talked about it, both to save Will his dignity and to avoid unpleasant memories.

“I can imagine she would want to be cautious,” Will said, breaking the silence like shattered china.

Nilesy swallowed and nodded, taking another sip of his tea.

 

* * *

  

Will stayed for a little over an hour. He and Nilesy drank their tea and ate the cookies when Lomadia brought them in from the kitchen. She'd eyed Will again, but said nothing, and even sat down for a few minutes to have her own cup and chat for a while.

A little after six, Will wiped the cookie crumbs from his mouth and put both hands on his knees. “I should be going,” he said, looking at Nilesy. “My family will want me home soon.”

Lomadia glanced up and saw the clock on the wall, her eyes going wider. “Oh, fuck, you're right. It's not good to be out after seven.” She stood and brushed crumbs off her shirt. “Come on, Nilesy, we'll see him off.”

“That's not necessary,” Will said, picking up his backpack to sling it on his shoulder. The antlers clacked in their bag, muffled by the layers of cloth. “It's just a trip to the bus station.”

Lomadia made a low noise in her throat, Nilesy hurrying to clean up some of the dishes. Will went to the front door and they both joined him quickly, Nilesy fetching Will's coat and Lomadia standing by the door with her arms crossed.

“You sure you'll be all right?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“More than,” Will assured her, moving his bag to put the coat on, pulling it back over his shoulders. He could feel the magic of the antlers thumping faintly under their spell, reaching out through the cloth, trying to pierce their material confines. Will put a hand on the bag and slapped their magic back down, covering it tighter with his own spell.

Lomadia's eyes narrowed for a moment. “If you say so,” she said, reluctant.

“Just watch out for fae,” Nilesy said, fidgeting. Beneath his feet, his cat Fishbone had come out of wherever he'd been hiding, and wound between his legs. Nilesy glanced down, and back up at Will. “There'll be plenty of them out tonight.”

“I know.” Will gave him a reassuring smile. “I work for Kirin, remember?”

Nilesy frowned and Lomadia opened her mouth to say something, but Will pulled the door open, waving to them both, and shut it before they could stop him.

The wind had picked up, and the sense of magic on the air ratcheted higher with the fae coming out to play on the long, cold night. Snow fell at an angle with the force of the wind, covering Will in a thin powder within a few minutes. Somewhere, in the alleys and behind the dumpsters, the Garbage Court would be out, setting fires in trash cans and breaking beer bottles. Fae would try to knock on the houses of humans and coax them outside, begging them to dance under the snow and moonlight.

Will's nostrils flared, and he reached up, stealing a piece of light from a streetlamp as he walked past. He held it in front of his face, letting the electric light burn over his skin and melt the chill from the wind. Stealing light wouldn’t hurt anyone; all the humans were hiding inside until sunrise.

The antlers weighed heavy in Will's bag, and he chanced a glance at the sky, at the moon half obscured by the clouds. He didn't watch where his feet carried him, feeling out the sense of magic and where Kirin's pockets of influence had settled, how the green twisted subtly under the heavy tang of motor oil and the crisp, cleansing scent of fresh snow. Kirin had touched lives through binding debts and favors, and the spread of magic with plants raised by his own hand and brought into dozens of homes and businesses across the streets, letting his magic seep into the ley lines and over people's breaths.

But as Kirin had said, there were still places where his magic didn't touch, where he couldn't watch the city. He was the sidhe lord, the protector. Will had to help the tendrils of his magic grow.

He stopped at a park. Will pulled the bubble of light from his face, gazing over the small wood fence that made up the border, and the thin trees beyond, snow covering the ground in a pasty layer full of mud puddles. He hadn't been walking long, and had seen this park when walking to Nilesy's house before. It was small, a neighborhood park, where kids came in the summer and where people threw trash in the autumn, and no one saw it during the winter.

Slinging the backpack to his front, Will dug inside until he found the leather pouch among the junk papers, magazines, and a single old sweater. He took the pouch out and held it, pulling the sides apart and taking out an antler piece.

They looked as the shards had before, white with traces of crystalline blue, no bigger than the length of Will's palm. Will held it tight but gently, wary of crushing the bone, the pouch clutched firm in his other hand. He climbed over the small fence and trudged into the park, where he could feel the light, airy magic of the people who lived here. He breathed in and caught traces of worn clothes and rusted pipes, of weary sighs and children's laughter. Will walked, glancing to the left and right, searching for an empty place.

He found it a few minutes later, a spot without rotting benches or trees that bent in the long night's wind, covered only by dead grass and the snowfall. Will walked over and stopped in the middle of the area, kicking a foot out to dig his toe into the ground. The dirt hadn't frozen yet, the snow not cold or deep enough, and the ground shallow, the city disregarding it in favor of bigger parks with more shops around them. The soil was weak and frosted from the snow, not rich enough for any healthy plants to set their roots in.

It yielded well, and Will dug until it was a few inches deep, enough for him to use. He knelt down, shuffling the string of the pouch down his wrist and holding the antler piece carefully between both hands. His heart had started beating faster, and Will could feel his sodium light, still floating by his chest, warming him through his coat. It shed light on the antler and the ground beneath him, a bright orange bauble that shimmered over the snow.

Will closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and brought up his magic.

Kirin's brightness flared within him, green and fresh, tangling over Will's wrists and ankles. It was weak here, away from the shop and without a rooted base close by. Will could feel it pushing against his own magic, curling over and under, unable to merge with or understand it. The green magic wasn't _his_ , didn't come from Will's body or obey him naturally, but he could feel Kirin's presence underneath it, the touch of honeyed familiarity brushing against his hands, over the antler piece.

He breathed in quick and exhaled long, slow breaths, cold clouds washing over the antler. It quivered under his touch, and its sharp magic stabbed upwards again, yearning to grow and reach the sky. It stretched up and called out, a ringing pulse like the knock of wind against wood, aching to scratch the air and bury itself deep in the ground, all at once.

Will opened his eyes and leaned forward, placing the antler in the center of the hole he'd dug, piling the dirt back up around it. Logically it should have fallen, placed in a shallow, hastily dug hole with barely any support, but when Will released it, the antler piece stood straight and perfect, pointing to the sky.

For a long moment, all was still and quiet, Kirin's green magic stirring in slow eddies over Will's hands. He watched the antler, lips parted, not daring to blink.

Just when Will bent forward, ready to try again, fearing he'd done something wrong, the antler moved. It grew upwards, and Will stopped, staring, as it grew higher, thickening around the middle, and small buds appeared in its sides.

The buds turned to branches, and Will reeled back, giving the antler space as the branches curled high and the trunk grew taller, reaching almost a foot in height, the white outside losing its harsh, bony ridges, and the crystal blue turning a pale grey.

Within minutes, the antler piece had turned into a small birch sapling.

Kirin had told him that the pieces would root themselves and turn to trees, but knowing something and seeing it wasn't the same. Will's fingers dug in the snowy ground, leftover mud from snow melted twice over seeping into the fingers of his gloves.

He waited, but the tree didn't change any further and, reassured it wouldn't be using any more of the summoned magic, Will stood. He brushed off his gloves and picked the pouch back up, hearing the faint clack of the other antler pieces, waiting to be planted.

He had to put them all around the city. Kirin had told him to use his best judgement. Will glanced at the pouch, and at the small sapling in the ground, lips pursed. Green magic still surrounded him, fading every second he didn't use it. The ball of light had grown weak too, resting on the ground.

Glancing around the park, Will walked past the sapling, to another empty spot. The entire park was sparse, a place people didn't go to unless they felt they had to, to hide from responsibilities, walk their pets, or let children expend their energy. It had its own magic, a pale flavor that could be wiped off and taken hold of by the most inexperienced of magicians. The city wasn't invested enough to keep it looking pretty, or even decent. No one had a claim here.

Will could fix that.

He scooped up the bubble of light in one hand and walked a few yards forward. The antlers were like any other sapling, Kirin had said. They couldn't be planted too close together. Will dug another hole with his toe, kneeling to plant a second antler piece. He drew green magic in, grasping at the tendrils of Kirin's touch, and watched the piece grow and spread into another sapling, taller and thicker than its twin, the branches reaching up, as if trying to claw down the sky itself.

Repeating the process was slow, Will forced to dig holes for each antler piece and dip his hands deep into the pool of Kirin's magic to spur them on, forcing life into a dead thing and urging them to spread their branches while, below the earth, their roots curled in the dirt and eagerly searched for nutrients. If he watched carefully, Will could almost see the exact moment they went from magic-imbued bone to bright, growing trees that created their own magic by the simple act of being alive. Webbed strings of green and blue wove between the branches, Kirin's gentle touch covering the saplings and shielding them from harm, and Will could feel it too, draped over his shoulders and around his neck.

Will stood and put his hands in his pockets, admiring his work. He'd planted a small grove of birches, spreading them throughout the park, and Kirin's magic hung thicker here, running over the ground where new roots were growing, tentatively breaching the fence and skittering over the road.

His job done, Will left the park, releasing the bubble of light into the nearest street lamp, the light flaring brighter for a brief moment with Will's magic and the new, spinning ball of sodium light that seeped into its glass.

His backpack bounced with his steps, the pouch swinging by its string on his elbow. Will tucked his arms closer and hunched his shoulders, keeping an unassuming posture as he started walking down the street again. There were plenty of spaces where Kirin's touch wasn't as strong, where he couldn't watch over the houses and people, and Will only had so many hours before he had to go home.

He caught another bus, taking a seat covered in glossy newspaper ads, and got off twenty minutes later, stepping off and catching his hand on a lamp post. He was close to Garbage Court territory, closer than he usually dared to go. He hurried off the sidewalk, taking the closest alley and ducking through quickly, head bowed but eyes peeled for any spare flower beds or empty parks he could use. He thought he could hear laughter, to the east, but he didn't stop to look. Any people enjoying themselves tonight were probably best to avoid.

His shoes skirted over a patch of dirt, and Will stopped. He'd crossed through another alley and come out on a sidewalk, stepping over an empty bit of ground at the very edge of the concrete, next to the street. Once upon a time it had probably held a tree or shrub, an attempt to brighten the neighborhood with greenery. Will glanced up and down the street, seeing similar empty squares of dirt, one of them with the remains of a dead bush. The city had long given up on this neighborhood, the high crime rates and residents prone to falling through the system's cracks too much for them to deal with. The perfect place for the Garbage Court, where they could vandalize buildings and overturn abandoned cars without worry because the local police had stopped giving a shit.

Kirin, though. Kirin would care.

Will bent down, scratching over the ground. Unlike the dirt in the park, the tree bed in the sidewalk wasn't as soft, and Will stood to kick at it a few times, forcinh away the surface layer of frost and knocking the dirt loose. He kneeled again, digging the new hole a couple more inches deep with his hands, ignoring the bits of dirt and sharp rocks that found their way through the stretched fabric of his gloves.

He planted another antler, his breath shallow as the sapling grew and rooted itself in place, Kirin's green magic worming its way through Will and into the trunk of the new tree, winding itself over the outside like the plastic gardening tubes designed to keep animals from eating the bark. But _this_ shield would keep away more than just animals.

The Garbage Court would probably come after them, but there wasn't much to be done, with a piece of Kirin's magic deep in their territory. It wouldn't be as simple as slash, burn, and be done with it; not with Kirin's touch embedded in the birch's bark and pulsing within its depths.

Tucking his hands back in his pockets, Will turned on his heel, the tingle of magic from the new tree lingering at the back of his neck.

The night bus schedule was even more predictable than the buses that drove during day, unfettered by traffic clogging the streets, and doubly so on the night of the solstice, when all the humans were locked inside. Will got on the next bus, eyeing the driver who held the steering wheel with an iron grip, determination and fear mixed in her expression. She wanted to get through the night without any fae boarding her bus.

He sought out parks and other empty patches of ground, seen only by a few stray bodies, some of them humans hurrying home on a late night at work, some fae who watched him with bright, glowing eyes, sniffing at the magic floating around him.

He didn't go into any yards, wary of breaking thresholds. Some people kept barriers on their homes, the way Xephos did, and any sign of trespassing could trigger an unwanted spell. Will walked past houses with empty yards and open lawns, and turned away, hunched down against the wind.

Public buildings did not have the same restrictions as private homes, and Will planted antlers near shops, banks, malls, anywhere with open access that he could find a patch of dirt. Even in places where the ground was shallow and unsuitable for a tree, he planted antler pieces and watched them sprout into healthy birch saplings, their branches curling upward. He even went to City Hall and planted one next to the other trees decorating the walls by the front door, Kirin's magic sparking and burrowing under the ground, through the sapling's roots and down beneath the building that sat at the heart of the city. The new tree glimmered in the light of the streetlamps, its pale grey trunk shining with the barest hint of the blue crystal that it had had when on Kirin's body.

It was well past midnight, the leather pouch much lighter than before, and Will started circling home. Xephos would be asking for him, had possibly called Nilesy's to ask what had happened. Lomadia would have told him that Will left hours ago, before all the clouds had obscured the moon and the fae's laughter had only been ringing in the distance, rather than creeping up Will's spine whenever he changed streets.

He slipped another antler out on his way to the bus stop, kneeling at the edge of a park surrounded by an iron fence. Kirin's presence was here, stronger than the outskirts that Will had explored, but still not as strong as the woven tapestry of green ribbons that fell over his shop and the nearby streets. Will stuck his arm through the fence and dug a shallow hole, putting the antler in and waiting a moment to let it go, relieved to see it stand on its own like all the others. Around it, litter had piled around the hedges and tree trunks, and the trees didn't have the same magic of dormant life in them. Their branches were thin, dangling rather than reaching up, and it wouldn't have taken a sorcerer with access to flowing green magic to know that most of them were dead.

The birch sapling flourished, growing taller than the fence, small branches sprouting from the trunk. Will stood and reached out, brushing over the smooth bark. The power zinged over his fingers, darting up the new branches and down, into the roots, wrapping around the sapling's base and thrumming, resonating in the ground. This area was Kirin's, now.

It took almost an hour of riding buses and walking to get back home, and Will walked up to the house from the back, through the yard. He opened the fence and walked past the garden, his skin finally numbing from the hours of exposure in the cold, the antler pouch bouncing against his thigh with each step. He glanced around idly, examining the empty garden and their resident tree, and stopped.

Beside the tree, in the corner opposite, was a blank space. An empty patch of ground covered in nothing but snow, several feet from the porch, just far enough from their tree that something else could grow there comfortably. Perfect for another tree.

Will gripped his bag. There was a single piece left, small and sharp. If Kirin had roots at Xephos' home, there wouldn't be a single place left in the city without his touch.

His fingers clenched around the top of the pouch, and Will breathed out, walking towards the house again, the bag firmly shut with its drawstrings pulled tight.

Inside, with the back door shut and locked, Will slumped, shoulders sagging. He didn't have more than a few seconds to rest, the sound of footsteps banging on the floors, and Xephos was there, rounding the corner and frowning deeply. “Where have you _been_?” he yelled, stopping just short of Will and glaring, eyes narrowed. “It's _solstice_ and I haven't seen you since you left! Lomadia said you went home at seven! What were you _doing_?” His voice was high, impatient, and his entire body shook with the force of his anger, hands waving uselessly in the air.

Will waited for the tirade to end, Xephos panting with clenched teeth, and said, “I took a walk.”

Xephos' eyes went wide, mouth opening for another tirade, when there were more footsteps and then Honeydew found them, peeking out of the kitchen. “Will!” he said, not nearly as upset but clearly not pleased, moving to stand with Xephos, hands on his hips. “You never bloody called home! Where did you go, what were you doing?”

Turning away to avoid their eyes, Will pursed his lips and listened to them rant. Xephos took the majority of the yelling, waving his hands, and Honeydew stood stoic, occasionally jumping in to add to Xephos' spitting words, both of them speaking with fire in their eyes.

They went on like that for a few minutes, Will's gaze trained on the floor. Xephos started on another rant about _telling_ him where he was going on solstice nights, and stopped. Will looked up, eyebrow raised, and saw Honeydew with one hand on Xephos' back, looking down. Will followed his gaze to the leather pouch at his side.

He'd forgotten to put it in his backpack.

Honeydew pointed at it with the hand not on Xephos' back. “What is that?”

Will breathed in sharply and tucked it behind his leg, too late. “Nothing,” he said, and tried to move past them, but Honeydew grabbed his hand, wrenching the pouch from his fingers. “No!” Will grappled for it, Xephos on him quickly and holding him back by the shoulders, Honeydew stepping back and pulling the strings on the bag. “Don't touch it!” Will tried to jerk free, but Xephos' grip was like iron, not as strong as Honeydew but plenty determined.

Honeydew looked inside and gasped. He snapped the bag shut and looked at Xephos, holding it out wordlessly.

Xephos let him go and Will tried to snatch the bag. Xephos grabbed it and spun away, turning harsh eyes on him. Honeydew took his wrist, pinning him in place as Xephos backed up a step. Will froze, hand in the air, and dropped it, sighing.

His eyes stayed on Will, waiting for him to move, and when he didn't, Xephos looked at the bag. He opened it and looked in, eyes going wide, hands clenching over the leather. His lips parted, no sound coming out and, staring in horror, he reached in and pulled out the final piece of antler.

“What,” he said slowly, lifting it up, “is this?”

Will's face burned hot with shame, pulling against Honeydew's grip on his wrist, but Honeydew held on like an anchor, glaring up at him. “It's nothing important,” Will said, swallowing.

Xephos' eyes narrowed. “This is Kirin's, isn't it?” he said, his grip so tight that Will could see his knuckles turning as white as the bone he held. Will's heart went tight, beating hard in his chest at the way Xephos held it, magic and physical power threatening to break the fragile piece.

“Yes,” he spat out, prepared to yell and scream and kick like a child, but Xephos' eyes had lost their flare of anger; instead, worry etched around the edges of his eyes, lips turned down, and Will's shoulders slumped, his words dying on his tongue. There were no excuses, nothing else to say.

Xephos' face had gone red, pinching together, and he clutched the antler even tighter, arm lowering to rest at his side. “What were you doing?” he asked, the words rushed, eyes jerking as they looked over Will's body. “Why do you have a piece of antler from Kirin? What's going on?”

Honeydew grunted, and said, “That bag is awful big for just one antler piece.”

Xephos' face snapped to Honeydew, and back to Will. “Did you have _more_?”

Will didn't answer, turning away. He could feel the cracks in the magic of the antler, the burst of life that had let the birches take root, snapping with the tension of Xephos' hand around it, his magic flaring with his anger. It licked over the surface of Xephos' skin and focused on the antler, swirling around it. Will couldn't sense other people's magic nearly as well as his own or Kirin's, but Xephos wasn't holding back, letting the bright blue fury seep down his fingers and drip over the antler.

A tighter grip, a little more magic, and it would shatter.

Will had finished planting, but the antler was Kirin's, and Will needed it, couldn't explain away the burning in his chest at the sight of Xephos' trying to destroy what didn't belong to him.

“I was planting them!” he said, twisting his wrist to yank himself free, and lunged.

Xephos drew his hand back, raising it up high, and Will crashed into him, reaching up with clawing fingers, trying to get the antler back. The magic cracked again, Xephos' grip like iron chains around it, and Will's heart beat faster, eyes fixated on the antler.

“Oi!” Honeydew grabbed his shirt and tried to drag him back. Will yanked against the pull, knocking into Xephos again. Xephos grunted, and his fingers opened, the antler slipping between them.

Will cried out and scrambled, but it was too late. The antler hit the floor with a quiet crack, shattering on the hardwood. Its magic burst free, scattering like leaves in autumn. It smacked Will in the back of the head, a rush as the magic he'd buried himself in the entire night left him, swirling over his neck and pulling away. He gasped, and his chest hurt, like someone had knocked the wind from him.

He slipped, nearly falling, but caught himself. Will looked down and saw the antler, broken in three neat piece, their edges rough and splintered, tiny fragments on the floor around them.

Kirin had cut the antler apart, taking each piece carefully from the whole, preserving the magic inside it, so they could grow it something greater. The piece on the floor was split in anger and haste and Will's desperate need to keep it from his uncle, its life fading the second Will let Xephos take it from him.

No magic could live in an antler treated like that.

Will took short, quick breaths, willing away the ache in his chest and bending down to scoop up the parts of the antler, not bothering with the minuscule fragments. The three chunks were heavy in his palm, the serrated edges threatening to cut his skin. He turned, looking at Xephos and Honeydew, who had frozen, watching him.

Eyes narrowed, Will said, “Congratulations.” Neither of them moved or spoke, and he continued, “I'm going to bed. Goodnight.”

He cradled the antler pieces in his hands and stalked past them. They didn't stop him, and Will frowned, turning into the hall and trudging up the stairs. He could have sworn he saw Lalna's bedroom door slam in his peripheral vision, but he was too tired to care.

Climbing up the attic steps, left open when he'd gone out hours before, Will paused before his bed and glanced at the footlocker that had held his magazines and books about plants. The lock had been opened; not broken, but undone. Will tipped the antler shards into one hand and felt in his pocket with the other, touching the footlocker's key through his pocket.

Xephos hadn't stopped at _just_  looking through Will's room.

He growled and clutched the antler shards to his chest. He fell into his bed, jacket, boots, and backpack still on. Will couldn't be bothered to take them off, or do anything except hold the pieces tighter. He tilted his hands back, looking down at them.

They were no longer mystical, or pretty, or powerful. They were just shattered bits of useless bone.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Will tried to go to Kirin's shop.

He piled the antlers into a small bag, the leather pouch still left downstairs and presumably destroyed by Xephos. Will held his new bag tight and went downstairs, dressed for going out. During the night he'd managed to find the energy to pull his clothes off, but he'd kept hold of the antlers. He didn't let them go in the morning, either, coming downstairs to see Xephos standing in the living room doorway, looking up at him.

“I'm going to Kirin's,” Will announced, hurrying his steps, but Xephos caught him, lips pulled in a deep scowl.

“No,” he said, fingers tight on Will's arm, “you're not.”

“I have work today--”

“You're _banned_ ,” Xephos hissed, eyes narrowed. “Stay home and help us decorate for Christmas. And get rid of that.” He jutted his chin toward the small bag of antler pieces. “I don't want to see any more antlers in this house.”

Will pulled away, bringing the bag closer. “I can't just skip work,” he said.

“Yes, you can. Take a personal day.”

Reaching in his pocket, Will pulled out his phone and said, “Let me _call_ , at least--”

“No!” Xephos grabbed his phone before Will could react, holding it between clenched fingers. His blue eyes burned bright when they met Will's. “You are not making _any_ calls to Kirin, I don't want you having contact with him today. Understood?”

Will's brow furrowed, eyes flicking between Xephos and the phone. “Fine,” he spat.

Xephos watched him, waiting for Will to make another move, and turned, going back to the living room. Will looked at the phone and felt inside himself, snatching a bit of magic and thrusting it toward Xephos' hand. The phone's screen lit up, and Will summoned a text message, sending it flying through the airwaves just as Xephos rounded the corner to the kitchen.

He'd be damned if he didn't at least tell Kirin why he wasn't coming in.

Tucking the bag of antler pieces into his backpack, Will took it off and set it by the front hall closet with his boots and coat. Resigned to staying in, he went to the kitchen, and found Honeydew and Lalna eating breakfast, Xephos preparing a pot of tea.

He ate with them, and Honeydew dragged Will upstairs to get the old plastic tree from the upstairs closet. They spent an hour pulling out, setting it up in the living room on its stand, and fetching the box of Christmas decorations to start making it look good. The smell of plastic and mothballs made Will's head spin, and he ducked his face into his elbow as they pulled ornaments out, coughing hard to shake the taste of dust and cobwebs from his lungs.

Will eventually got used to the smell, taking some tinsel to start throwing it over the tree's branches. A knock at the door stopped him, and he turned to see Lalna get up to answer it.

He froze, eyes wide and hands held up. Will's heart beat faster and he scrambled to the door, as Honeydew asked, “Who is it?” and Xephos nearly screamed, “Bloody _fucking_ hell!”

Stumbling into the hallway, Will caught himself on the living room doorway, breathing hard. Honeydew and Xephos passed him, shoving Lalna behind them.

In the front doorway, Kirin stood, grinning, and turned to catch Will's eyes.

Will had never seen Kirin like this before.

His glamour had been dropped, completely. His skin was the deep blue sheen Will had seen before, his dark tail swinging behind him and trailing long, white fur off its end. His fingers curled into his palms, nails sharp and thick like claws.

When he smiled, Will could see his canines, too sharp, and in his face there were many eyes. Will had seen Kirin's multiple eyes before, but now there were not five of them, but _seven_ , an extra two open on his face and glowing bright, fiery blue. His antlers and horns reached up from his head, so tall that Kirin wouldn't fit in the doorway without ducking, sparkling crystal blue in the sunlight.

His skin pulsed with green magic, surging over lightning-shaped cracks in his skin every time Kirin flexed his muscles. He tilted his head, looking at Xephos with all seven eyes blinking, and he said, “Happy holidays to your household.” He glanced at Will again. “You didn't show up for work, and I was worried.”

“Come in,” Will said, the words tumbling from his lips, and he heard Xephos curse under his breath, bubbling out, “No, he _can't_ \--” but it was too late.

Kirin smiled, ducking under the doorway and moving into the front hall. His legs moved strangely, knees bending backwards, and when Will looked, he saw that Kirin had no shoes, and instead of human feet, he had deer hooves peeking out from the hem of his pants. He put a hand on Will's shoulder, squeezing. “Will has been doing such good work for me,” he said, looking over Xephos, Honeydew, and Lalna, all three staring down with various degrees of terror.

“I wondered,” Kirin continued, “why he didn't show up for work, and why he didn't call me.”

Will looked up, and he could see it in Kirin's expression, the slight twist to his mouth, that he must have gotten the text, hiding the truth between twisted words. He pushed the blame off them both, staring directly at Xephos with his seven glowing eyes. Kirin and Xephos both knew _exactly_ why Will wasn't at work.

Xephos went stiff, hands turned to fists at his side. “It's the holidays,” he said. “We wanted to spend some time together.”

Kirin's tail flicked, curling around Will's ankle, his hand pushing a degree heavier into Will's shoulder. “I'm glad to see you're all right, Will,” he said, not breaking his gaze from Xephos. “May we have a word together, in private?”

Will nodded and said, “Yes,” before Xephos could so much as open his mouth, grabbing Kirin's wrist to drag them out the door. Kirin went willingly, looking over his shoulder at Xephos. Will broke the stare, moving in front of Kirin and slamming the front door shut, leaning against it with a heavy sigh. He stood up to block the small window set in the door, keeping prying eyes away.

“Xephos wouldn't let me come,” he said, meeting Kirin's eyes. Kirin smiled and nodded knowingly, tucking a hand around the back of Will's head. He drew him away from the door to kiss his forehead, resting his other hand on the small of Will's back.

“You did excellently,” Kirin murmured, his breath brushing over Will's hairline, and Will felt the magic of the praise, a spell weaving over him and shivering down his spine, racing through his blood to boil at his core. Snow fell around the edges of the porch and it must have been less than twenty degrees, but Will warmed inside at Kirin's words.

Green magic rose up, out from Kirin's body, and wound around his toes, his ankles, over Kirin's tail that had curled around Will's thighs, and rooted him to Kirin, wrapping around his shoulders like a shawl to protect him from any dangers.

Kirin leaned in, careful of the horns that stood proudly on his head, curling his hand under Will's jaw to tilt his face up. “You have been a wonderful apprentice,” he said, quiet, like the words were a sacred prayer. “Not everyone who learns under me has the chance to plant the antler birches, Will, and you did it perfectly. You are something more than a mere student.”

Will's eyes went wide, lips parted, trying to process the words. Kirin chuckled and kissed him, his lips the wrong texture and too hard, too solid, but they were still warm and Will melted into the touch, hands coming up to rest on Kirin's broad chest. Kirin's tail pressed on his thigh and the green magic wound tighter, brushing over Will's neck and wrapping around his ankles.

When Kirin pulled away, Will said, “W-What do you mean, more than a student?”

Kirin flashed his teeth in a wide grin. “The only role better than sidhe lord's apprentice,” he said slowly, all of his eyes on Will and blinking slowly, tracing over his features and resting on Will's gaze, “is the sidhe lord's _consort_.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up, and he stared, letting the words fly through his mind and bounce against his skull like the cacophony of late night traffic, running over the words a dozen times to be sure he'd heard them correctly.

Kirin watched him, patient.

“Yes,” Will said quietly, and the word rang through his body, crackling from the center outward like shattering glass. “Yes!” he said again, to the thought of being with Kirin, of _belonging_ to him, the idea settling in his mind and coiling over his throat, a heavy, twisting vine of magic covering his frame and keeping him there, in Kirin's warmth and his smile.

In his ears, Will could hear thumping footsteps, creaking walls, the rumbling tires of buses and the growls of the animals that invaded the alleyways, pigeon's wings flapping, trees groaning under the weight of the snow, the entire city rising within him. And then, the snap, the touch of green magic writhing under his skin; the roots of plants crawling under the ground, soil upturned by hibernating creatures, the dormant life of trees in the winter, waiting for the spring to come, their new leaf buds just under the surface of their branches.

It hit Will all at once, and he grit his teeth, steeling himself against it. His fingers scrabbled on Kirin's coat, and then his arms were around Will, holding him close. Kirin's voice whispered soft words to soothe over his aching mind, the magic biting at the edges of his eyes. Will opened them, afraid to see the toothy edges of frayed cable and roiling asphalt burned to the point of melting.

He only saw Kirin's chest and, looking up, his face, still tinted blue with many eyes, but with a soft smile, his hand cupped over Will's jaw. The magic lingered, buzzing faintly inside him, the echo of the city ringing in his ears.

“Power,” Kirin said, laughing quietly. “So much, you can hardly contain it all. But.” He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, his antlers bracketing the top of Will's head. “I'll help you. You are my consort, now.” His voice was low, full of awe, all seven eyes trained on him. “You will control more magic than you ever _dreamed_ of having.”

Kirin kissed him again, softer than before, and drew back quickly. Will's entire body was on fire, sparking from the green magic licking at his ankles and pushing at the top of his spine, tingling. Will beamed, moving his hands to curl around Kirin's neck, feeling the thick skin that was ever-so-slightly damp with dew-drop wetness.

“Your consort,” Will said, and he had no idea what the title truly meant, what would be expected of him and what would change, but the magic inside him sang out its joy at the way it sounded to him. The city woke, briefly, from its winter sleep to cry out in celebration, and green magic poured off Kirin, surrounding him like a shield, the word repeating in his mind over and over. _Consort_.

Without knowing why, Will laughed, his shoulders shaking and his chest rumbling with relief. The snow had piled over their feet and shoulders, soaking Will's shirt and running in cool rivers down his neck. Inside, Will thought he could hear a faint voice, possibly Xephos, but Kirin was in front of him and the city thrummed with electric life under his feet. This was his world, Kirin and the city and the magic coiling through the streets.

It belonged to Will.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to -themadhatter- and we-can-escape on Tumblr for helping me edit this story! You're lovely!
> 
> EDIT: There's been a bit of confusion but this story is not the final part of 'persephone.' There's a whole nother story to write yet! Stay tuned for part 4 after this one.


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